Companion Sense
by Dark Aegis
Summary: He still had no clue about women. A Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler, Mickey Smith, and Dorothy Ace McShane adventure.
1. Falling Apart

**Title:** Companion Sense  
**Authors:** Gillian Taylor  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Characters:** Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler, Mickey Smith, Dorothée McShane  
**Summary:** He still had no clue about women.  
**Spoilers:** 'Girl in the Fireplace' and a very 'wee' bit of the NA 'Set Piece'  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own them. I just like playing with them...a lot.  
**Archive:** Sure, just let me know.

**A/N:** Thanks, as always, to my fabulous betas WMR, Ponygirl, and NNWest.

* * *

**Companion Sense  
by Gillian Taylor**

**Chapter 1: Falling Apart**

She stalked away from him after a terse, "See you later."

It was the late twenty-second century, Earth. She could get lost here, hide in the crowds, shop, people-watch, or do one of ten thousand little things to drive away the memory of what he'd done.

Once upon a time, he'd promised that he'd never leave her like he had Sarah Jane. Once upon a time, she'd thought he'd meant it. Once upon a time was gone, shattered into a thousand tiny pieces because of Madame du Pompadour. She didn't care that he had gone back to save her (that was what he did). She didn't care that he was stranding himself there (goodbye, Doctor, my Doctor). What she cared about, what worried her, was that he had left Mickey and herself stranded in the fifty-first century. No way home. No way to rescue him.

Just them and the TARDIS.

She knew he had regrets. This trip was a means of atonement, or so she thought. See Earth, late twenty-second century. Best shops in the galaxy. Eat, sleep, drink, shop, be merry.

He still had no clue about women. Neither did Mickey. She'd left both of them behind because, for now, she just wanted to be by herself. See if Rose Tyler, twenty-first century girl, could survive on her own in the future. Because one day, if this trend held up, she might have to.

She bit her lip as she considered her options. Shop? Eat? Or just explore?

Exploration would be good. Get the lay of the land, and, if something happened, she'd know where she was. Jack had taught her that. She suppressed a pang of sorrow at the thought. She missed him. Though, to be honest, she missed them. The Doctor, her first Doctor, and Jack. Travelling the universe together. Because this Doctor, new new Doctor, wasn't him.

Everything had changed.

So she explored. Poked her head into shops, down alleys, and wandered through neighbourhoods she probably shouldn't have ever come near. She saw the poor, the wretched, and miserable. She saw the wealthy, the well-to-do, and the privileged.

And then she saw the undercurrent. Beneath this perfect world, beneath the pristine streets, the shops, and the smiling faces, she saw the truth. One too many police officers, one too many suspicious looks sent her way, one too many nervous expressions as people walked past her. Something was wrong.

Something was terribly, horribly wrong, and she had to figure out what it was. But, first, she should probably get back. Find the Doctor and Mickey, and show them what she'd found. Even if she wanted to sulk, saving the world took priority. He might be a new new Doctor, but he was still the _Doctor_. He could still save the day, save the world, save a person. It was what he did. Who he was.

That would never change, no matter the regeneration. New new Doctor or not.

She shoved her hands into the pockets of her pale grey hoodie and turned around. Though she'd been wandering most of the afternoon, the TARDIS should only be a few minutes walk away.

She could even imagine the Doctor's face when she told him what she'd noticed. Maybe he'd be proud. Maybe he'd smile. Maybe he'd grin, grab her hand, and head toward the centre of government to sort whatever problem she'd found. Or maybe he'd already know. Maybe he'd been looking for her. Maybe he'd be angry because she'd been gone for so long without him.

No. That wouldn't be the case. He had her mobile number. If he'd been worried, he could've just called. And her phone hadn't even emitted a single beep or buzz.

_"Attention, attention. Citizens of Nova Paris, curfew in ten minutes. Repeat, curfew in ten minutes. Return to your homes. Any citizens on the streets without express permission from the Constables will be arrested. Repeat, curfew in ten minutes."_

She jumped at the sudden announcement. A curfew? The sun hadn't even set. She bit her lower lip and increased her pace. A few more minutes and she'd be back at the TARDIS. A few more minutes and she could tell the Doctor what she'd found. A few more minutes and she'd be able to shake the sudden feeling of danger.

It was all wrong.

She turned the corner and smiled in relief as she spotted the TARDIS. The Doctor and Mickey were probably inside, wondering about her. Good. She could tell them...

Her thoughts and musings were cut short as an arm snaked around her waste and a hand was pressed against her mouth before she could scream.

"Don't make a sound, Rose. Please. They're watching," an unfamiliar voice hissed into her ear as she was dragged into a darkened alleyway.

She was struck dumb for an instant, before she began to struggle against the steely grip of her captor. How could she, and it was a female from the sound of her voice, know her name?

"Rose, stop it! I'm a friend, okay? A friend of the Doctor's and of you, so please stop struggling. They'll find us!"

She wanted to demand answers to the dozens of questions that tumbled about in her mind. She wanted to break free of the woman's hold and see who had accosted her. She wanted to do many different things all at the same time, including breaking loose and running back to the TARDIS, but she did none of them. Instead, she stopped struggling. She would play along, see what this person had to say, and then, if she didn't like what she heard, she could always escape later. It was a plan.

Her captor relaxed her grip once they were hidden behind a large metal bin in the alleyway. "I'm going to let you go, Rose. We've got to talk."

Rose nodded and, once she was free, she turned around. The other woman wore some sort of jet-black armour and her eyes were covered by mirrored shades. Great. One of the best physical cues for a person's intentions was their eyes. Jack had taught her that, too. Taught her that their movement, the dilation of the pupils, or even the amount of times they blinked could all be give-aways. However, she didn't even have that benefit. All she could see was the reflection of her own face.

Wonderful.

"Who are you?" she asked – or, rather, demanded.

She did have to admit that the other woman had a nice smile. "Call me Dorothée. As for who I am, I'm a friend. And the Doctor's in trouble."

The Doctor was always in trouble, she wanted to scoff. But something in Dorothée's voice told her it was much more than that. "What do you mean?"

The other woman gestured in the direction of the TARDIS. "He's the Doctor. Talked to the wrong person on the street, said the wrong thing, and now both he and your other friend are currently in the gaol cooling their heels since they're 'rebel' elements. Anyone spotted going near the TARDIS is going to be joining them."

"How d'you know who I am?" she asked, folding her arms in front her. "It's all well an' good that you know the Doctor, but how could you..." Understanding dawned. Time travel. Anything was possible. She could've met Dorothée in her future, Dorothée's past. It was definitely possible, if not probable, because the other woman was not someone she'd be likely to forget.

Dorothée smiled. "Now you're getting it. I knew you were a smart one." She pulled off her shades and held them loosely in her hand, staring intently at her. "This Earth? This future? It's not the way things are supposed to go. Nova Paris should be a peaceful, sprawling city with happy locals, cheap trinkets for sale, and bad tea."

"And the Doctor noticed it," she reasoned. Of course he did. He was the Doctor. He could find patterns in the most ephemeral of clues. Earth, late twenty-second century, Nova Paris. Too many guards, too many frightened and suspicious looks, and curfews. All pointed to a harsh and unforgiving government. If she had seen it, of course he had. Probably had figured it out once he and Mickey had stepped out of the TARDIS.

Knowing him, he'd probably asked the first person about what was going on and that was that. Arrested and thrown in gaol with Mickey. Some things never changed. Still the Doctor. Still had the knack for having trouble find him.

"So did you," the other woman replied, a knowing look on her face. "However, much as I'm enjoying this little chat, we need to get a move on. They're a little anal about their curfews. I've got a place where we can hole up for the night and plan how to get the Doctor out of gaol."

She frowned. It was getting late, and the curfew would present a rather large problem should they attempt to rescue the Doctor tonight. Especially since she didn't know the lay of the land. She didn't know much about the customs. And she definitely knew nothing about what had happened to Nova Paris to cause this particular version of the future. And her newfound friend apparently did. "Where?" she asked, not bothering to demand answers to her other questions just yet. That would come later, after they were somewhere safe.

"This way," Dorothée said, gesturing toward the other end of the alley. "Brought something along that'll help us avoid the locals. Curfew starts in a minute."

She nodded and followed along behind her, envying the other woman's almost cat-like grace. She felt like she was more knees and elbows even when she was trying to be silent. When she saw the 'something' that her companion had mentioned, her mouth dropped open in shock.

It was a black motorcycle. Not a futuristic one, though it did have a fair bit of bits and bobs that she suspected hadn't come standard when it was purchased. But a recognisably-from-her-century motorbike.

Dorothée swung her leg over the saddle of the bike and gestured for her to climb on behind her. "It'll take a few seconds to get there, just got to set the coordinates."

She felt somewhat dubious as she slipped onto the bike, gently gripping her companion's waist for balance. Coordinates? It was a motorcycle, not a –

A brilliant burst of multi-coloured light blinded her as the roar of the motorcycle's engine filled her ears. She had a sense of movement, of amazing speed, of something strangely familiar – a song? Yes, a song, in her head.

_It's like...there was this singing..._

_That's right! I sang a song and the Daleks ran away._

The song. A beautiful song of such age and power and sorrow and knowledge and she knew it she was it she was the B –

Hands grasped at her shoulders, desperately shaking her. "Rose! Bloody hell, I wasn't thinking. Rose! Answer me!" The voice - Dorothée's? Yes, Dorothée's. – was tinged with desperation.

She blinked and she felt reality shift. The other woman hovered over her, her face a study in worry. Somehow they'd moved. They were in what looked like a flat. She could see a bed, a table, what looked to be a telly, a sofa– which she'd somehow been moved to – and, of course, the anachronistic black motorbike parked in the centre of the room. "H…how?" Not the most brilliant of questions, but an obvious one.

Dorothée didn't answer. Instead she bustled to the tiny kitchen and pressed a series of keys on something that looked like it belonged on an episode of Star Trek rather than in real life. A moment later, she returned carrying a mug full of some sort of steaming liquid. "Here, drink. It's tea. You need it."

She accepted the cup, willing the heat to transfer to her suddenly chilled limbs. "What was that?" she asked before she took a sip.

"The Vortex."

She blinked. The Vortex? "As in _the_ Vortex? Space-time vortex? Travel through space an' time Vortex?"

Dorothée nodded. "Exactly. It's not as flashy as the TARDIS, of course, but...I'm sorry, Rose. I should've realised that it'd have that effect on you."

What the hell? "What d'you mean?"

It was obvious that her companion hadn't been affected by the Vortex, not like she'd been. But why? And why should Dorothée have realised that it'd have an effect on her? It was the Vortex. The bloody space-time Vortex and it'd done something to her. Must've done.

_I sang a song..._

She set the cup aside and pinched the bridge of her nose. What was going on?

It was obvious that Dorothée was picking her words carefully. Not because she was trying to simplify her words, but she suspected it was more that she didn't want to reveal too much. Wasn't that just fantastic? "Travelling in the TARDIS makes you a bit...sensitive to the Vortex. It's a maelstrom in there, Rose. And travelling, even for a few moments, unprotected in there can cause...problems."

"Problems?" she repeated.

"Best ask the Doctor. He can explain it best."

It was an obvious tactic, but something told her that nothing could sway Dorothée to change her mind. Well, damnit anyway.

* * *

How did that saying go? Best laid plans of mice and Time Lords? Pretty much. Story of his life. All he'd done was go up to one of the locals right after leaving the TARDIS, Mickey in tow, and said, 'Hello, I'm the Doctor. Why don't you tell me what's wrong?' Next thing he knew, he'd been shoved up against his TARDIS, handcuffed, gagged – now that was annoying, hard to prattle when gagged – and brought here.

A gaol.

With Mickey Smith.

At least they'd the courtesy of putting them in the same cell. Though they hadn't had the courtesy of leaving him his jacket or the handy sonic screwdriver. It was rather hard to be intimidating when stripped to the waist, but he figured that he could manage it. Their captors had yet to indicate that they were interested in talking.

In fact, they'd been left in the cell, alone, in semi-darkness for at least two hours. Typical human tactic, that. Trying to get them to think about their supposed crimes, think about what might happen, think about what sort of torture they might resort to so they could get whatever answers they wanted. In short, it was almost insulting.

"So, how're we going to get out of this?" Mickey asked.

Ah, companions. They always had a knack of asking the obvious. "With my dazzling charm and quick wits."

Wait. He had said that right, hadn't he? "Or is that quick charm and dazzling wits? No, think I had it right the first time."

He could hear Mickey shifting on the floor in the futile – and he knew this from experience – attempt to find a comfortable position. The chains strapped to their feet tended to restrict movement, and humans wouldn't invent comfortable floors until, oh, the thirty-ninth century. "But what about Rose?"

Ah, yes. What about Rose? This trip was meant to be a bit of penance for him. A plea for forgiveness, perhaps, for his actions with Reinette. Oh, he hadn't been thinking before. Rarely did, actually. Just jumped right in, forgetting the possible consequences of his actions. That really was a fault of all of his incarnations.

Part of the reason why he was stuck here without Rose, too. Jumped right in. Figured out that something wasn't right and stuck his foot in it as usual. "Oh, she's fine. Probably back at the TARDIS, wondering where we got off to."

Or captured like they were. Or about to do something incredibly stupid – as she was sometimes apt to do – like mount a one-woman rescue attempt in an unfamiliar city.

Right. Enough moping.

"This is Rose we're talking about, Doctor."

"Don't you think I know that?" he snapped and winced at the sound. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "Sorry, Mickey, it's just..."

"Yeah, I know. You're worried about her." Mickey sounded rather glum.

"Worried about us. Worried about her. Worried about time. Worried about Nova Paris. Worried about the price of tea in China. Worried about lots of things, really. There's a lot of worry going on," he agreed. "I shouldn't take it out on you." He shouldn't. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help but be concerned.

Rose was out there, without him, in an unfamiliar city, with a totalitarian government in control. Curfews were strictly enforced and violators of whatever laws they had were shot or thrown into prison. At least, that was the way it usually worked.

"She'll be fine," he said, more for his own benefit than Mickey's.

However, before Mickey could respond, the cell door scraped open. A large, burly man loomed over them, his stance indicating that he wouldn't tolerate any disobedience on their part. So Muscles was accounted for. Where was the Boss?

Ah.

A smaller man followed him in, his beady eyes glaring at them as he cleared his throat. "I am Jacques LeMoreau, Chief Diktar of Nova Paris. You have been found guilty of a most heinous crime."

He smiled. "Ah. Hello, I'm the Doctor. This is Mickey Smith."

"SILENCE!" the burly man ordered, cracking his knuckles suggestively.

"The crime of asking questions of the regime or of a citizen carries a heavy sentence. You are hereby condemned-"

He interrupted before it could go much further. "Condemned? Condemned! For asking a question? All I asked was 'what's wrong?' Why, there are planets where asking questions is considered an art form. I asked a question once and they were so inspired by it that they couldn't stop talking about it for about a century. It was brilliant!" Before he could continue, he felt a brilliant burst of pain on his cheek.

Dazed, he found that he'd fallen to the floor from the force of the punch. "Oi! I was talking! Didn't they tell you it's rude to punch someone when they're ta-"

Muscles kicked him. The next flash of pain caused him to wince.

Right. New tactic.

LeMoreau smiled, but there was no real feeling behind the expression. "Insolence adds to the severity of your crime, Doctor. You are condemned to Serenity."

"Serenity?" Mickey asked. "Doesn't sound too bad."

"Could do with a bit of a kip," he agreed.

Now Jacques' smile held a measure of warmth. "As you're obviously unfamiliar with our customs, I'll be frank. Serenity is death."

Oh.

Well, wasn't that fantastic?

_To be continued..._


	2. Picking Up the Pieces

**Chapter 2: Picking Up the Pieces**

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Of all the rookie mistakes to make, she'd had to make the biggest one of the lot. _Brilliant job, Dorothée McShane_, she scolded herself. She remembered the last time she'd met Rose and the Doctor. The meeting had been pure chance. At least on her part. For all she knew, they'd been looking for her. Knowing the Doctor, she certainly couldn't discount that possibility.

A Caxtarid invasion force had decided to use her Rift as a handy incursion point for their assault on Earth. She'd just happened to be there in time to stop it. With a little help from the Professor and Rose, of course. Though, strangely at the time, the Rift had fluctuated wildly whenever Rose ventured close to it. It was only later that she'd found out about Rose's experiences with the Vortex.

And now she'd almost done it. Almost killed Rose, almost lost Rose's mind, all because she'd been so bloody careless. Just had Rose jump onto the bike, and a quick trip in the Vortex later, she'd thought they were safe. That was when she'd realised that something was wrong. It'd been a nerve-wracking minute - or was it a century? - before her companion had begun to respond to her.

At least now, colour had returned to Rose's cheeks and she seemed much better. Despite the fact that she couldn't tell Rose what she'd wanted to know. Of course she'd want to understand what had happened. But it was the Doctor's place to tell Rose. Not hers.

Right. Enough contemplation. She had a Doctor to save. She perched on the edge of the small coffee table and regarded her companion thoughtfully. "What've you seen while you've been here?"

"You mean besides the sights and smells of the alleys of Nova Paris?" Rose asked dryly. The other woman shrugged. "Been to the marketplace, checked out a few shops, and generally wandered. Tried to get the lay of the land, that sort of thing."

Rose picked up her mug of tea and took a sip before continuing. "An' after a while I started seein' things. Things that seemed out of sorts. No one was talkin' to each other, they were just walking. They kept on walking with these fake smiles without looking left or right, like they were on a mission or something. But the ones that did look, they did it sneaky-like. And each time I tried to say 'hello' or smile at them, they'd get nervous and look away. There were police everywhere too."

She was impressed. Nova Paris tried its hardest to present itself as a perfect utopia to the rest of the world. No crime, happy people, plenty for all. Generally that picture-perfect view of the city was hard to get past. Unless it was someone like Rose who saw that picture and immediately picked up on the under-currents.

She grinned. "Exactly. I've been here about two days. Knew something was off the moment I set foot here, but it was only after a few hours - and seeing someone get hauled off by the Constables for asking a question - that I realised what was going on. It's a classic dystopia, really. Complete with bad uniforms, cheesy slogans, and curfews. Anyone who disobeys gets thrown into gaol. Anyone who asks a question - specifically about the regime or anything else about the way of life - is arrested and, apparently, killed for their dissent."

"We've got to get them out of there! Knowin' the Doctor, he'd've asked something about the regime an' that'd get him and Mickey killed. We can't just sit here!" Rose protested, standing to pace the small flat.

"Sitting here's exactly what we've got to do, Rose. But not idle. Can't go in there with all guns blazing, we need a plan." Which would've been somewhat ironic had she been a few years younger. A plan. She would've been right on the frontlines, toting some Nitro and an attitude and trusting that that would've freed the Doctor. She'd, thankfully, grown up a lot since then. Somewhere on her armour she had a tiny personal computer...

Ah, there it was.

She shot her companion a grin. "So, Rose, ever staged a jailbreak before?"

* * *

He was too young to die. Really. All he'd wanted to do was see the universe, see what it was that made Rose go out there for himself. Prove that he wasn't a tin dog. And he wasn't! He was Mickey Smith, mechanic, companion to the last Time Lord, and a condemned man.

Bollocks. He wasn't supposed to die like this. Not now. Not here. Not in this stupid century. It couldn't work like that. It just couldn't.

He couldn't be born in the last twentieth century and die in the late twenty-first.

Right?

Somehow, he knew differently. He could die in the past or the future, on an alien planet, on the TARDIS, or on Earth. This life that the Doctor and Rose led wasn't safe. Could never be safe. He'd seen what it was like, what could happen. He'd seen the Doctor abandon them to save a French aristocrat. He'd known that it wasn't a joke. If it was a game, it was a game of life and death.

It looked like this time he'd drawn the short end of the stick. Death it was.

Not death. Not here, actually. Oh, no, they'd condemned them to 'serenity'. Well, he certainly didn't feel serene. He felt anything but.

The Doctor shook his head, forcing himself to his feet. "Serenity? Serenity! Death? What? And no trial? Where's my jury of peers? Though they'd be hard pressed to find any of those. My barrister? Where're the men in silly white wigs with too much powder and too much ego? And the accommodation leaves much to be desired. Can't say this is going on my top ten list of best places to go when I find myself condemned to death. It's a little boring, really. What about last requests? A last meal? A last phone call? How about a pardon? Or, failing that, a jelly baby?"

"Or our clothes and belongings?" he suggested. His reward was an approving look from the Doctor. Amazing, really, how much that encouraged him.

"Enough!" LeMoreau snapped. "You have heard your sentence. Serenity comes with the dawn. Enjoy your last evening on Earth." Their captor spun and walked out of the room with a flourish, trailed by his brutish bodyguard.

"Oi!" he found himself protesting. "How 'm I supposed to enjoy it when I'm locked up in here?"

As he'd suspected, there was no answer. Wonderful.

"There goes the charm and wit portion of our evening," he groused.

The Doctor grinned at him. Grinned! "Oh, never call it quits before the cow moos. Or was that the fat lady sings?"

He fought the urge to groan. Being stuck in jail with the Doctor was certainly not on his 'must-do before he died' list. Nor was getting sentenced to 'serenity'. "Got a plan?"

The Time Lord opened his mouth, closed it, looked at the ceiling, looked at the floor, stuck his hands into his trouser pockets, pulled them out, shuffled his feet, and finally met his gaze. "Nope."

Great. Just great.

They were doomed.

* * *

Was this was it was like to be a Time Lord? To feel the seconds slip into minutes slip into hours? To feel the turn of the Earth as it sped instant by instant toward the dawn? To feel each beat of her heart as it sounded out an urgent plea to save the Doctor, to save Mickey, from death?

However, despite the urgency that pulsed through her body, she pushed it aside. There would be a time to worry later. After the fact. After the rescue. There would be a time to worry about the what-ifs and could've-beens. For now she listened and learned.

According to Dorothée's portable computer - not quite the wristcomm that Jack had, but similar enough to produce a wave of loss that she'd quickly suppressed - the gaol was located in the centre of Nova Paris, occupying the space that had once been home to some of the greatest art treasures in all of human history.

It was gone now, Dorothée had sadly explained. The Louvre had been one of the first remnants of the old regime to be destroyed. All of its works of art had burned with little to no protest. To see art was to dream of a better world. To draw, to paint, to sing, to dance, and to read was to dream and imagine. All had been banned. Without objection. Without fail. To protest was to die. To ask questions was to die.

Free will had no place in Nova Paris. Questions had no place. Dreams had no place. Life, true life, had no place.

It sickened her as much as it angered her. She couldn't imagine giving in so easily. She couldn't imagine giving up her freedoms for the sake of a government. But she hadn't lived here when the famines had struck. Hadn't lived in Nova Paris when the economy collapsed. Hadn't lived in Nova Paris when the terrorists began to attack. Hadn't witnessed the slow decline of freedom in favour of safety and food and protection.

But she could imagine it. She could see it. She liked to think that she wouldn't've given in, that she would've fought the decline, would've fought the loss of personal freedom, would've fought this particular future. She wouldn't consider the other possibility, especially since it wasn't important.

Knowing the past was essential. Knowing the lay of the land was mandatory. Enough thought. It was time for action. "So how're we going to get in?"

Dorothée grinned. "There's one good thing about a totalitarian government. And that's that they like schedules. Love them. Can set watches by them. One hour before dawn, the gates of the gaol are thrown open to allow a designated few women enter the grounds. These women are paid mourners. Every daybreak, the prison guards drag out the condemned and, just before they kill them, they allow the women close. It's a gesture, or so the government says, that they do care for the people. In death, the condemned find their release. And, to let them know that they are cared for despite their faults, they let the women close. That's our 'in'. Well, that, and -" The other woman reached into one of the satchels slung at the side of her motorbike and pulled out a small, metallic sphere. "-this."

"Which is?" she asked, mystified. A ball was going to help them save the Doctor and Mickey? Sure, it could be something useful like a sonic whatchamacallit, but it wasn't something obvious. It was a bloody sphere. What good was that going to do them?

"A little something from my days as a D.K." At her mystified look, Dorothée explained. "I was a Dalek Killer in Spacefleet. Back when there were such things."

A shiver ran up her spine. Daleks.

_I sang a song…_

She shook off the words, realising that her companion was still talking.

"This stuff registers ten on the Richter scale. Bit more potent than my earlier attempts at explosives and, not to mention, it's got a better fuse. It's a smart bomb. I can tell it what I need and it'll do it. Useful things, really. Have about five of them readily available along with some older explosives, but they should do the job. We're gonna need a distraction, though. And that'll be my job. You're going to go rescue the Doctor and your friend and get the hell out of Nova Paris."

Yeah, right. That'd be leaving the job half done. "You know as well as I do that we wouldn't leave. Not yet. Not without sorting this particular temporal mess. This isn't how the future's supposed to go. You know it, I know it, and the Doctor knows it. He's not gonna just swan off this time. He's got to fix it."

Dorothée sighed. "I know. No matter how many times he changes his face, he's just the same as ever. But it didn't hurt to say. Just get out of the gaol. I'll take care of the rest."

She frowned. "What about you?"

"What about me?" Dorothée repeated. "I'll just hop on my handy bike and get the hell out of there. Nice and easy."

Why was it that whenever someone said that - be it the Doctor, Dorothée, or, really, anyone - she was convinced that Murphy was about to strike against them?

Oh, right.

That was from experience.

* * *

How many times could one have a 'last night on Earth'? Once? Twice? A dozen? Or, as in his case, a couple hundred? It really started lose its charm after a while.

_Enjoy your last night on Earth._

What if he couldn't? Or wouldn't? What if he decided he'd rather be, oh, spending his last night on Raxacoricofallipatorious? He didn't, of course, but that wasn't the point.

There really wasn't a point. At least, he didn't know of one. Pointless, really. A pointless death all for the sake of a question. A very, very important question, but a question all the same.

Something was wrong, ergo he had to fix it. Duty and all. Time's Champion, Destroyer of Worlds, Ka Faraq Gatri, the Deceiver. Labels, names, definitions. If it was broken, he had to mend it. Especially when time was the victim.

So, here he was. Sentenced to death, again. Faced with an impossible decision, again. Separated from Rose, again. Stuck in a cell with Mickey, a…er, that was new. But, otherwise, it was the same. Exactly the same. Same, same, same-ity same.

And now he had to come up with a brilliant plan before Rose, as she was apt to do, came up with one of her own. Before she got caught or hurt or worse because she'd decided to rescue them. He knew she would try, though. She was Rose Tyler. She wouldn't sit idle in the TARDIS, waiting for them. She'd find out what had happened, maybe find some sort of resistance group along the way, and then try to stage a rescue. Alone, if she had to.

Assets. It was a good place to start. He had a chain shackled to his leg, bolted to the wall. He gave it an experimental tug. A chain firmly tied to the wall with little to no give in its length. He had a bench that had definitely seen better days - probably back in the early twenty-second century if he had to guess. And, as he tried to move it, he realised that it was bolted to the floor. There was a refuse bucket...

No.

Not even considering that one. He had his belt. He had Mickey.

Well, there went the assets listing. Too bad the trusty 'play sick' routine wouldn't work here. Now if he had a handy rebel group, or, even better, his sonic screwdriver...

Right. No use in crying over spilled coffee, or was that milk? He'd have to talk his way out when their guards returned.

"So that's what you're gonna do? Just sit there? Doin' nothing?" Mickey asked, bitterness lacing his words.

"Oh, I'm doing plenty," he protested. "Solving one of the Faradi Equations, inventing a theory on the meaning of life, the universe and everything. Strangely enough, it does have something to do with the number 42. And trying to come up with a plan. Which would be much easier if you'd just keep quiet. Thanks for that." If he had a spoon, he could dig a tunnel. Now that was just silly. Damnit anyway. He was better than this. Despite the chains, despite the death sentence, he was better than this. There just had to be a way...

"Is this what you do with Rose? Just sit there, come up with a plan, and then you're out of whatever mess you found yourselves in? Flying by the seat of your pants? But, no, that isn't what you do, is it? You let her in. Tell her a bit about what you're thinking. You won't tell me. 'Cause I'm nothing more than the tin dog, aren't I?"

"I really liked that dog," he replied absently, not really registering his companion's words.

"Like now. You're not even listening to me!"

He blinked, finally focusing upon the other man. "What is it?"

Mickey sighed loudly, shaking his head. "Never mind. Doesn't matter."

Humans. He'd never understand them. No matter how much time he spent in their company. He suspected that there was more to it than just that. More to what Mickey was saying than 'it doesn't matter', but there were far more important things to worry about.

Like the fast approaching dawn. And 'serenity'.

Good thing he worked best under pressure. "So, Mickey, how're you at playing sick?"

That earned him a rather astounded look to which there really was only one answer.

He grinned.

_To be continued..._


	3. The Best Laid Plans

**Chapter 3: The Best Laid Plans**

Oh, right. That was just a fabulous plan. 'How're you at playing sick, Mickey?' Whatever. Why couldn't the _Doctor_ play sick and _he_ play the hero? He folded his arms in front of him and shook his head. "Playing sick? What a brilliant plan!" He rolled his eyes. "That wouldn't work."

Before the Doctor could do more than open his mouth to reply, he continued, "They're just gonna kill us in the morning. Why would they care if we're sick or not?" There went his plans of being the hero while the Time Lord played sick.

The Doctor looked crestfallen. "Right. Which means we'll have to rely on Plan C or, if that doesn't work, Plan D."

"Which are?" He really couldn't understand what Rose saw in the bloke.

"C's for rebels. Places like this? There's always an underground resistance. It's a fact of life. Someone, somewhere, would've taken a look at this way of life and said 'no'. All part and parcel of why I love your species, really. D is our backup plan."

"What's the backup, then? 'Cause I've certainly not seen any resistance movement. Didn't see any sort of graffiti out there either. An' I'd think I would if there's a resistance. Like 'Free speech rules!' or 'Down with the Dictator Whatshisname'." At least, that made sense to him. If he were resisting this particular regime – and, really, who wouldn't? – he'd be plastering anti-government messages across Nova Paris.

The Doctor shrugged. "Prattle." After a moment's thought, he continued. "We were in the street for, oh, what was it? Fifteen, twenty minutes? Barely enough time to realise that something was wrong, let alone giving you enough time to check for graffiti."

He had to be literal, didn't he? He still hadn't seen any markings on the wall. 'V for Vendetta' or anything of the sort.

"Your backup plan is 'prattle'?" he asked, his tone disbelieving. Right, brilliant idea. Fantastic. In fact, to even suggest that scheme was almost awe-inspiring. Or would be, if it had a snowball's chance in hell of working. "Didn't you notice that the guard didn't exactly let you have enough time to prattle? Or that the guard hit you for trying? And, when you did manage to at least get a few sentences out, they ignored you? How's that supposed to get us out?"

"Are you always going to be this dreary? That's what makes it fun, Mickey! You just won't know until you try. Besides, I've got high hopes for Plan C." The Doctor grinned as he pushed himself to his feet.

The Doctor had high hopes. Oh, that made him feel so much better. "And what about Rose?"

A shadow crossed the Time Lord's face. "What about her?"

Surely the Doctor didn't think she'd be sitting back at the TARDIS waiting for them. This was Rose. The instant she realised something was wrong, she'd tear the city apart looking for them. And, of course, get into trouble along the way. He knew it. She'd done it before, even when lives weren't at stake and they were back in their time, their planet, their city. Before the Doctor ever came in and mucked it all up. If she thought he was in trouble, she'd always come running. From what he'd seen that hadn't changed, though it was more if the _Doctor_ was in trouble she'd come running.

He really was the spare part.

"She's not gonna sit still while we're in trouble. You've got to know that. She'll come after us."

The Doctor's jaw clenched. "I know. But she's clever. She'll be fine."

He shook his head. Somehow, he suspected that the Doctor wasn't talking to him anymore. Not with that last sentence. No, he wasn't trying to lie to him. He was just trying to delude himself.

* * *

Night slowly crept over the city. Shadows lengthened as the brilliant orange, red, and violet sunset faded into dusk. She couldn't get used to the eerie silence of Nova Paris after nightfall. In her time, though she could hardly specify a time since she truly lived in them all, the city would still be alive with sound and laughter as the denizens celebrated the day's end. 

However, that was her Paris, her world, her life. Here, nothing stirred save for a few Constables on their nightly rounds. She gripped the edge of the window frame, balancing herself against it. If she had anything to say about it, this would be the last quiet night that Nova Paris would know.

She caught Rose's reflection in the glass and she could tell that the girl was worried. Of course she was. Nine hours to go until the jailbreak. Just nine short hours.

Rose broke the silence, her voice almost too loud in the close quarters of the flat. "These mourners. Do they have to wear anythin' special? 'Cause I can't see them just, well, bein' let in no matter what. You said they were paid. How'd they be able to get their pay if they don't know who's been a designated mourner or not?"

She smiled. Oh, Rose was a clever one. "Yeah. Badges. Each mourner wears one on their right shoulders – looks sort of like a Fleur de Lys and a swastika meshed together. We get our hands on a couple of those and we'll be fine. I know where the women gather before they walk to the gates, so all we have to do is get there before them and, well, _borrow_ the badges."

"But won't the mourners protest? What's the incentive for giving up their badges if they're getting paid?"

She was about to say that that didn't matter. This was the last night, the last dawn, that they'd see in this twisted up timeline. The badges wouldn't work anymore. It didn't matter. But, looking at Rose, she could see that it did. She couldn't do that. It wasn't right. "That's what this is for," she said, reaching into a pocket in her combat suit to pull out a heavy brown velvet bag and offering it to her companion.

Rose was about to open the bag when she heard it. It was faint, so, so faint that it was barely there. Shouts on the street. A siren. No, several sirens. Pounding footsteps. A knocking on the neighbour's door. Someone saying...

"What is it?" Rose asked, picking up on her sudden tension.

She held up a hand and frowned. It was so hard to hear, but it was there. Just there. Someone said...

Oh, it was so bloody faint, but she thanked the thin walls of the building. She could just hear the woman's words...

_"Oui, the young lady had a friend. I heard something about the gaol. I think they're resistance. I am a good citizen, Constable. A loyal citizen. You must stop them before they hurt anyone. Please, Monsieur. Can you do-"_

"Cruk!" she cursed, grabbing Rose's wrist and pulling her toward her bike.

"What's going on?" Rose repeated.

"Constables. Should've realised that my neighbour was too nosy for her own good. We've got to get out of here." Cruk! And, of course, the window was out. Damn thing was bolted to the frame, and, unlike the rest of the building, it was tamper proof. Cruk!

But Rose...

Hell. She'd have to risk it. Their only choice was to use the bike, and the only way they could use the bike was to travel through the Vortex. "Bloody hell!" she cursed again. "Get on the bike, Rose." She let go of the other woman's wrist to gather what little supplies she had readily available. A pillowcase would do as a makeshift carryall, and, thankfully, she kept the important items on her person or on her motorbike.

Medical supplies. They'd need medical supplies, possibly some water. She had no idea what condition they'd find their friends in when they got there. She rushed about the flat, throwing whatever might be useful into the sack.

_Knock, knock, knock._

"Nova Paris Constables! Open up, mademoiselle! You are in violation of regulation one-victor-alpha!" The voice was punctuated by heavy thumps on the door. "We know you're in there!"

No time.

She ran to the bike, handing Rose the pillowcase. "I'm sorry, Rose," she said as she climbed onto the bike in front of her. She didn't know what this might do.

"Do it!" Rose commanded, her tone brokering no argument.

There was no time, no choice. The door started rattling in the frame from the force of the Constables attempt to enter the flat.

She started the engine.

With a mighty _CRACK_, she heard the door splinter in its frame.

She twisted a knob on the handlebar. "Sorry we can't stay and chat!" she shouted and, with a squeal of tires, she sent them rocketing into the Vortex.

* * *

He suddenly understood one of his former companion's penchant for re-writing events in a more favourable light on yellow sticky-notes in her journal. He could even imagine just what he'd say about the day on one of those notes: 

_Dear Diary,_

_Today, I got arrested for asking a question. Through the use of brilliant prattle, managed to escape and save Rose (and Mickey) from a deadly fate. Toppled the government, sorted history, and left before the grateful populace could shower me with more gifts – really, how much bad tea, strong coffee, and pastries could the TARDIS carry? No, don't answer that. Sent the TARDIS drifting for a while, talked to Rose, and all was right with the universe._

_For now..._

_Love,_

_The Doctor_

That, of course, was nothing like the truth. In his mental journal, he knew the facts. They were simple. Obvious.

_Dear Diary,_

_Today, I got arrested for asking a question. Got myself and Mickey sentenced to death and now have no way to escape. Prattle's out thanks to the strange immunity of the Nova Parisians to my persuasive powers. There isn't a handy rebellion and, of course, the sonic screwdriver was confiscated along with my jacket and trench-coat. Oh, and I forgot to mention the best bit. Rose is somewhere out there, free, but I suspect it won't be for long. She's probably going to try and rescue us and get captured in the process. Getting two companions killed in the same day – must be some sort of record. Bah, now I'm getting morbid._

_Wonder what the guards'll do when they realise that I'm not human. Regeneration's a bit hard to hide, after all. Provided that they succeed in killing me, of course. Now that's even more morbid. Enough. New new Doctor, right? No more thoughts of death. Think positive._

_Right. Positive._

_Maybe we'll get a different guard to escort us to 'serenity' and maybe he'll be a member of the rebellion. Either that or less resistant to my prattle. One can only hope._

_Love,_

_The Doctor_

That cinched it. He was never getting a diary. And, no, his 500 year diary didn't count.

"So how much longer till dawn?" Mickey asked glumly from his position in the corner. Shadows hid his expression, but he could easily read the other man's body language. He'd given up.

"Oh, don't give up! We've got plenty of time! Six hours is more than enough time to come up with and execute an escape plan. I've done it in under a minute before, and that was with all the hordes of Genghis Khan chasing me." Really, Mickey could at least try to be a bit more positive. They would get out of this.

"Would it help if I yelled at you? Shouted obscenities? Threatened to kill you? Would that get those brain cells of yours charged up enough to get us out of this mess? 'Cause I can't see a way out of this that doesn't result in one or both of us getting killed." His companion shifted on the hard floor, searching for a more comfortable position.

"Have a little faith, Mickey! We will survive. No. Hold on. That's a song. Well, sort of. More 'I will survive', but the meaning's the same. Anyway, we'll get out of this." The only option that he could see was to try talking his way out of their current situation. He couldn't escape without the sonic screwdriver or, at least, getting the shackle off his leg.

"Yeah. Whatever."

He tuned out Mickey's grousing. There wasn't enough time to indulge him. He had to think. Think, think, thinkety think. There had to be _something_ he could do.

Something...

_Dear Diary…_

Something, that was, other than that.

* * *

Oh, she loved her bike. It could get her out of a tight spot anytime. Normally she avoided letting anyone see the Vortex, let alone her disappearing into it, but there hadn't been enough time. It was life or death. And she wasn't just thinking of the Doctor and Rose's friend. 

It was simple enough to hop forward a few hours. All it took was another twist of the knob on the handlebar. That should help them give the Constables a slip and still have enough time to make sure that Rose had made it through the journey without any ill effects.

She regretted having to do it. Having to use the bike so soon after Rose's last experience with the Vortex. Hell, she hadn't wanted to do it but there was no choice. They had to escape and the bike was the only way out.

With another burst of brilliant colours and light, the bike peeled out of the Vortex and came to a halt near the tiny patisserie that served as the mourners' meeting place. A quick glance at her watch revealed that they still had time. Not much, admittedly, but enough.

"We made it!" she whispered, shutting down the engine in an attempt to keep their sudden arrival quiet. They were aided by the curfew, and the patrols. No one would be up at this time of night, let alone be outside. The only danger would be from the flats overlooking the street, but from a cursory glance she could tell that no one stirred behind the darkened windows.

Rose didn't answer.

"Rose?" she asked, not bothering to whisper.

Nothing. The other woman's hands were limp around her waist and she was suddenly aware of how heavily Rose was leaning against her. Which could only mean one thing.

She was unconscious.

"Cruk," she muttered under her breath as she carefully eased off of the bike, keeping one hand on Rose and the other on the handlebar. Wouldn't do to have both the bike and Rose fall to the ground.

When she finally got a good look at her, she bit off another curse. Rose's face was shockingly pale, her mouth slightly open, and her eyes wide and staring. It might've been her imagination, but she thought she could see brilliant flecks of gold in her friend's eyes.

"CRUK!" she cursed again, barely managing to push down the kickstand and hold onto Rose at the same time.

Once the bike was no longer in danger of collapse, she put both of her hands onto the other woman's shoulders. "Rose, can you hear me?"

Nothing. No spark of recognition, no spark of awareness in her eyes. Nothing at all.

She tightened her grip on Rose's shoulders, shaking them lightly. She had to react. She _had_ to. But there was nothing. No reaction. Just the same blank stare.

What had she done?

"Oh, god." She gave voice to her despair. "What've I done?"

The unresponsive body of Rose Tyler had no answer.

_To be continued..._


	4. Awakenings

**Chapter 4: Awakenings**

_It's like...there was this singing..._

It whispered through her mind, caressing her thoughts and filling her with understanding. Time's music filled her, was her. Infinity stretched before her and she knew it all. She could see it all.

_All that was. All that is. All that ever could be. _

She saw him. Her first Doctor. Brilliant with golden light, she could see him, could feel him press his lips against hers.

_I think you need a Doctor._

And she knew. Oh, god, she knew.

_Everything must come to dust…all things. Everything dies._

She'd killed him. She'd killed him. He'd died…for her.

_That's right! I sang a song and the Daleks ran away. _

It was too much. Far too much. There was so much pain. So much...

"Rose."

She could hear the voice on the barest edge of her perceptions. But she couldn't answer. She was lost. Lost in the Vortex, in her memories, in her new-found knowledge. She'd killed him. Oh, god, she'd killed him.

"Rose, please don't do this to me. It isn't meant to end like this." She recognised the voice. It was Dorothée. But what had happened?

Brilliant gold filled her, but Dorothée was right. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Not like this. At that moment she could see eternity stretched out before her, she could pluck the strings of time and cause history to dance to her tune. She could do so much, but she did nothing.

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.

_There was this singing…_

And there was. Around her, within her, it filled her. Time's music swelled within her mind and she knew in that moment how harsh destiny could be before it was washed away.

The music reached its crescendo within her mind and then…

It stopped.

The music, the vibrant colours, and the Vortex itself began to fade as she slowly returned to awareness. Everything was blurry for some reason, all browns and greys and blacks. Nothing was in focus.

She tried to say something as she blinked away the dryness in her eyes, but all that emerged was a strangled groan. Her vision cleared and she realised that her friend was leaning over her, Dorothée's worried expression changing to relief.

"Rose! Don't do that to me again!" Dorothée exclaimed as she was pulled into a rough hug.

"What…" Her voice emerged in a croak and she swallowed before she tried again. "What happened? I jus' remember getting' on the bike and then there was this singing..."

Dorothée shook her head, apparently at a loss. "You wouldn't answer me, Rose. I thought I might've lost you to the Vortex."

"The Vortex," she repeated, almost tasting the words. "Yes. I remember."

Dorothée's gaze sharpened. "What do you remember?"

"Not enough." She sighed briefly, brushing back her hair with an impatient gesture. "There was something with this brilliant golden light an' some sort of understanding. Like I knew everything for just a moment but it's gone now. It's all gone, except for one thing." She could see him in her mind's eye, bending over her, his eyes sad.

_I think you need a Doctor._

"What's that?"

His lips had touched hers. His arms had wrapped around her. The knowledge that this was the end had filled her…

She shook her head, unable to give voice to her newfound knowledge. "'S not important. So how much time before the mourners get here?"

"We've got about an hour," Dorothée explained after she cast a glance at the sky. "But we need to get the bike out of the street and get into hiding. Curfew doesn't end until dawn. The mourners have special privileges to walk outside at this time of the morning."

After a quick glance up and down the street, she gestured toward one of the alleyways next to the patisserie. "How 'bout there?"

"Works for me."

Together, they pushed the bike out of the street and into the alleyway. Once Dorothée was satisfied with the location, she pointed at the only relatively clean spot on the pavement. "We can rest here. I'll keep an eye out for the first few hired mourners. Best to get to the first couple rather than waiting for the stragglers, there'd be more chance of us getting caught the other way."

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the brown velvet bag that Dorothée'd handed to her in the flat. After the ruckus with the Constables, she'd stuffed it into her pocket and promptly forgot about it. "Here," she said, offering her the bag.

"Thanks," Dorothée accepted it and, with one hand holding the bag, she held out the other. She tipped out the contents, coins and a strange robot-like insect tumbling onto her hand. "Oh, good. I _had_ remembered to pack a few twenty-first century coins. Wouldn't do to get caught without them." Brushing the insect and a few other coins back into the bag, she put it back into one of the pockets in her armour and put the rest of the coins into a separate pocket.

Dorothée reached into a compartment in her armour and pulled out something that looked suspiciously like an old-fashioned version of the Doctor's sonic screwdriver. The other women handed it to her and she turned it in her hand.

"Is this what I think it is?" It had to be. Only it looked more like a tyre gauge than a screwdriver.

"Sonic screwdriver," Dorothée said, confirming her guess. "Probably a bit older than what you're used to, but it gets the job done. You'll need that. Got it set to setting 3980 – great for opening stubborn locks. That is when you can't use an explosive."

She smiled faintly as she tucked the device into her hoodie's pocket. "Thanks. So, now we wait?"

"Yeah."

So they did.

* * *

He slept fitfully, curled into as tight of a ball as he could manage in an attempt to conserve as much body heat as possible. Every few minutes, he'd wake up with a start, realise where he was, shiver a bit in the cold, take note of where the Doctor was, and then try to return to sleep. However, without fail, three or five minutes later his eyes would open and he'd repeat the cycle anew.

It was useless. Pointless. He was going to die in a few hours. Oh, sure, the Doctor'd said they that they'd be safe. That they'd escape and that all he needed was a little faith.

Faith couldn't keep him warm. Faith couldn't save them from this all-too physical reality. Faith couldn't prevent death.

Didn't even make it easier. It just was there. Looming over him like an unwelcome visitor. Death: It was so final and so incredibly useless.

He could see his breath – a thin tendril of white vapour that faded away as soon as it left his lips. The prison was bloody cold at night; either that or the guards had a sadistic streak within them and liked to watch their prisoners suffer. He certainly wouldn't doubt it. But he was still here. Still stuck. Still captured. And still with no one other than a melancholic Time Lord for company.

He heaved the sigh of the world-weary and pinched the bridge of his nose. He just couldn't do this. Rose? Rose was made for this sort of life. Terrible danger, daring escapes, and not being the tin dog. He was nothing more than their fall-back, their spare, their gooseberry.

No prizes for guessing who the Doctor would prefer to share these last hours of his life with. Not him. Never him. But then, nobody ever chose Mickey Smith. Rose. It was only ever Rose for the Doctor, despite that French woman they'd met yesterday. And it was only the Doctor for Rose. He just bet the Doctor was wishing it was Rose sitting here. And he wouldn't be keeping as far away from _her_ as he could manage, either. Or not talking to her.

But he was glad Rose wasn't here. Fiercely glad. Because that meant she was alive. And there was a good chance she'd stay that way, unless she was stupid enough to try to rescue them. The Doctor wasn't exactly who he'd choose to spend the last hour of his life with, either. So he supposed they were even. Tough luck for both of them.

"You should get some sleep," the Doctor said, shifting a little from his position against the opposite wall.

"Can't. 'S too cold," he replied, hugging himself against the chill.

The Time Lord frowned, as if he'd only just realised how cold it truly was. "Oh. Right. Didn't think of that."

Damn him anyway. 'Didn't think of that.' He repeated the words in his mind. Of course the Doctor didn't think of it. He never thought. Just did. That was the way he was. His personality. He'd just jump right in without thought of the consequences.

The Doctor'd asked a question. Got them both thrown in jail.

Another shiver ran through him. Didn't help that the place was so bloody cold.

He stared at his feet, wishing that they'd at least left him his shoes. But, no. Just his trousers and socks. That was it. Damnit. What a way to die. Well, be condemned to die. He wasn't dead yet.

That was when he noticed that there was another pair of feet where there'd just been his. When he looked up, startled, he was surprised to see sympathy in the Doctor's eyes.

"Shove over, Mickey," the Time Lord said and, once he did, settled next to him. Only their sides touched, but the meagre heat was enough to bring some feeling back into his body.

"I'm sorry," the Doctor said after a long moment, running his hand through his hair.

He blinked. "What for?" There were never apologies. Not with him.

"I may have miscalculated," the Doctor admitted quietly. "This isn't how it was supposed to go."

He wanted to laugh bitterly at those words. Miscalculated? But at least he was trying. "Can't say I wanted to travel with you and get killed on my second go."

The Doctor winced. "There's still a chance. Where there's life, there's hope. At least, I was once rather fond of saying that. Might be again. Who knows?"

Right. Regener-whatsit. The Doctor could come back. He only had this one life and that was it. No more. "What's it like?"

"What's what like?"

"Death." Morbid curiosity drove the question, as did a need to know. If he was going to die, what was it like? How would it feel? The Time Lord had died at least once, but probably more if Rose was right about his age – not to mention his knack for getting into trouble.

The Doctor sighed. "I don't know. I've never died."

"Must've done," he protested. "I saw you. You were all big-ears and a Northern accent and now you're all hair and geeky. If that's not death, what is it?"

"Regeneration isn't death, Mickey. It's just...I change. New personality, new body, new everything, but it isn't death. I'm still here. I'm still me. Same experiences and the same memories. Can't tell you about death because I don't know." When he looked at the other man, he could see that the Doctor's expression was haunted. "I just don't know."

"Oh," he said, folding his arms over his knees.

"I'm sorry," the Doctor said again.

"'S all right. New adventure, yeah?" He tried to smile, but it was forced.

"Yeah. But, whatever happens, we've just got an hour to go. Only an hour. And then..."

One hour.

One stupid, measly little hour until they were killed.

Right. That was _so_ comforting.

* * *

Something scratched its way across the pavement. A piece of litter twirled in the early morning breeze, disappearing behind the rubbish bins. She felt herself get lulled into a sense of relaxation. Here they were safe. Here they could wait in...

She started, realising just how close she'd come to falling asleep. Cruk! She stood and peered over the edge of the rubbish bins. None of the mourners had arrived, but it was only a matter of time.

As if her thoughts had summoned them, she heard footsteps in the distance. Judging from the hurried pace, they probably belonged to one of the mourners. No constable would walk that quickly. She nudged Rose with her foot, urging the other woman to stand.

"We've got company coming," she said quietly.

"The mourners?" Rose asked, stopping when she held up her hand for silence.

Judging from the footsteps there was one, no, two people approaching. Gesturing for the other woman to stay where she was, she eased out from behind the bins and edged toward the end of the alley. If she timed it just right...

"Are you sure that this is the right way? This is my first time doing this," a young woman asked anxiously.

Another voice answered. "We meet up by the patisserie every morning, mademoiselle. A constable escorts us to the gaol. It is the same." A wizened woman came into view escorting a young waif of a girl, her too-large eyes almost overwhelming her otherwise delicate face. Fear tainted both of their expressions and she felt a pang of sympathy run through her.

To live her life in a constant state of fear. To know that a single step out of the bounds defined by the regime would mean death. She could never live like that. She didn't know how these women did. But she suspected that she would've been one of the first to die. But she would've taken a few of them with her. She never had learned how to take regulations well, especially ones that went against her own personal code.

Once she judged that the women were close enough, she revealed herself, stepping out of the shadows and into the street. "Bonjour, madame. I believe that I might have something that would be of interest to you." She reached into her pocket and pulled out some of the larger-denomination coins, revealing them to the women.

"What do you want?" The older woman was suspicious, shielding the girl with her body. She must truly look a sight – combat suit, shades perched on the top of her head, long brown hair, and slightly dishevelled from the trip through the Vortex.

"I –" She was cut off by the sudden appearance of Rose. Her friend looked desperate and sad. Her clothing was dishevelled and she looked as if she hadn't slept in twenty-four hours.

Rose's voice broke convincingly as she spoke. "Your help, madame. Our brothers are inside the gaol. We just want to say goodbye to them, before they die. Just to give them some comfort. Please, you must help us. We can give you money, something, but please...we just need to get inside."

The younger of the two mourners stepped out from behind the other. "You have family inside the gaol?"

"Yes."

"Then there is no question. It is a cruel place, but it is our state in life to suffer, no? Being stuck on the outside? Of course you may –" The woman began to take off her badge, but the motion was arrested by the older woman.

"No. We do not know them. They could be Resistance. Trouble. We don't want to be discovered as those who aided them."

"We're not Resistance," Rose denied, doing her best to appear pitiful. "Please, I just need to see my brother."

She was impressed. Rose was rather good at this type of work. Then again, she was one of the Doctor's companions.

"We won't tell anyone who we got the badges from. Please. Before the others arrive." If her voice was a little desperate, it could be forgiven. It'd been a long day. Not to mention a long night.

"You will pay us?" The old woman asked even as she pulled off her badge. "It isn't much pay, but it's enough to feed my family."

She nodded. "Of course. Double your monthly wage." In this society, wages were a mere pittance of what she was normally used to. Barely enough for a single person to survive on, let alone take care of a family. It was the least she could do to pay for the badge. She felt guilty for having originally thought of taking the badges by force. This should be enough.

The transaction took barely five minutes. The exchange of money for the badges was done, and she and Rose did their best to tidy themselves up – she grabbed a trench-coat from one of the saddlebags on the bike and put it on, she was too conspicuous otherwise - before the other mourners arrived.

Ten minutes later, surrounded by other women, they were escorted toward the gaol.

She didn't know what they'd find inside, or how they'd find the Doctor, but she hoped against hope that they weren't too late.

_Hang on, Professor. We're coming._

_To be continued..._


	5. Mounting the Rescue

**Chapter 5: Mounting the Rescue**

Death.

What a morbid thought. He wasn't certain what the people of Nova Paris would think of a regeneration beyond the typical human reaction of killing anything that they didn't like or understand. Now, that would be an unpleasant experience. Never coming out of regeneration sickness, just being killed over and over again.

Thirteenth life's the charm. Only three lives to go, and then he'd know the answer to Mickey's question.

What was death?

He didn't know. However, he knew dying far too well. Falling, poison, a shot, old age, an explosion, and the Vortex. He'd experienced it all just before he regenerated. Nine times in nine hundred years. It wasn't a good track record. Most Time Lords were only in their second regeneration by the time they reached their nine hundredth year.

He never had been one to follow the normal trend.

The guards should be coming for them at any time now. Mickey had somehow managed to fall asleep, leaning against him. What little heat he could share wasn't enough, but every little bit helped.

He could hear footsteps outside, just faintly, but enough to realise that they were coming in their direction. "Mickey," he said, nudging his companion with his shoulder.

"Hmm? What?" The other man's voice was groggy as he blearily opened his eyes.

"They're coming."

At those simple words, Mickey stiffened, his jaw clenching in reaction. "Right. Best face death standing up, yeah?"

He smiled grimly. The gallows humour did little to lift his spirits. This was it. Last chance to talk their way out of this or else.

Good thing he worked best while under pressure.

Their muscles were stiff from leaning against the cold wall, but they managed to stand just before the door swung open. A blast of even colder air from the exterior hallway flowed into the room and he automatically suppressed a shiver of reaction. Mickey couldn't, but he was already cold. He made certain that he brushed the other man's shoulder with his own as he faced the three people who had entered in the wake of the wind.

Diktar Jacques LeMoreau was back, as was Muscles, and they even brought a little friend. He wasn't certain if he should be flattered or insulted.

"It is time," LeMoreau said without preamble.

"Time?" he repeated incredulously. "Time for what? Breakfast? Tea? Scones? To bat? To run? Or, oh, I know! Time for a pardon! That's it, isn't it? Oh, so kind of you to go through all that trouble. Hope it wasn't too difficult. These types of regimes always have the worst paperwork. And red tape. Humans and their obsession with red. Red alerts, red for danger, red for stop, red correction markers, red, red, red. Don't you know that through most of the universe red's camp? One of these days, you should really spruce it up a little. Throw in a bit of a variation. How about mauve for danger? It's a perfectly lovely colour, would go great with your complexion."

Muscles took a step toward him and he couldn't prevent himself from tensing in anticipation of a blow that never came.

"Serenity will be granted to you both." LeMoreau didn't seem to have even registered his words.

"What if I'm already serene?" Mickey asked, folding his arms before himself. It was almost a defensive posture. "There's no need to grant us something that we already have."

LeMoreau barked out a laugh, but he could see something akin to regret flash across the man's eyes. "Humour is little defence, child."

Mickey bristled at the insult, but wisely remained silent.

"Sometimes it's the only defence that we have. But you have little to laugh about these days, don't you Diktar?" He eyed the short, beady-eyed man. Yes, he'd judged him right. This was a man who lived in a constant state of fear. The only sense of joy that he'd probably ever felt in his life was the relief that he'd managed to avoid 'serenity' for as long as he had.

LeMoreau did not answer his question. Instead, he gestured for Muscles and their friend to move in. "Bring them."

"Don't we get some sort of last request?" Mickey asked as they were escorted not so gently into the corridor.

He gave his companion an approving glance. "A phone call? A pardon? A five-course meal served with real china and silverware? Even a decent cup of tea imported from England? No? This certainly isn't among the top ten jails that I've had the pleasure – and, sometimes, displeasure – of visiting. You'll have to try better for next time."

"For you there is no next time."

He smiled. "Oh, I wouldn't be so sure of that. Next time really can mean so many things. Next time I'm alive – provided you believe in reincarnation. Next time I visit Nova Paris – which won't be for a very long time, actually. Not enough benefits for the occasional tourist. Next time I cross the street, have a meal, see the stars, have tea, have a biscuit, anything, really."

"Serenity is the only certainty there is," LeMoreau retorted, as if by rote.

Ah! An angle.

"When you take away a culture's dreams, what's left?" he asked, turning his head to look at the Diktar. "Anyone? Anyone?"

"Death," Mickey answered.

"Oh, give the man a prize! Exactly. In an uncertain world, only two things are constant. Death and taxes. Or was that tourist traps and overcharging? No, wait, that was far too universal. I can never remember those phrases. So what do you do? You bury that knowledge in bureaucracy. It's so much easier to let someone else do your thinking for you. Inch by inch, freedoms are lost because it's easier to be governed than to live for yourself. And that's what happened here, isn't it?

"Maybe there was a war, or a famine, or a plague. Maybe the citizens started getting weary of loss, of pain, of death. So it started slowly. Freedom just trickled away without anyone realising that it was going until it was almost too late. Maybe they demanded that the government take over. Maybe they asked for it without knowing what might happen, what could happen. Common good for all, no? But that never works. It always turns into this. A dictatorship wherein rights are strictly governed, dreams are forbidden, and no one is allowed to question."

It was sad. So, so sad that these people could've done that to themselves. Oh, it'd happened before. Would probably happen again. Might even be someone who got the brilliant idea that they could be a benevolent dictator.

It always ended in one thing. The one thing that LeMoreau clung to as his only certainty. It always ended in death.

"You are perceptive," LeMoreau allowed, folding his hands in front of him. It was as close to an agreement that he'd probably get.

"It doesn't have to be this way," he said, willing the other man to believe him.

"That's where you're wrong." LeMoreau stepped in front of them and swung open a large door. Beyond its threshold he could see a line of what looked like...

Oh. Oh, no.

"Oh, god," Mickey said, his voice no more than a horrified whisper.

A line of guillotines stretched from wall to wall of the courtyard.

"This is how it has been and will always be, monsieur. Be glad for serenity. Not many are as lucky."

* * *

She shivered in the cold air, hugging herself for some measure of warmth as they walked through the quiet streets of Nova Paris. Every so often she'd see glimpses of the gaol in the breaks between the houses and flats that lined the roadway. It was a massive building, its very architecture conveying a hint of the gothic and the macabre.

It was easily recognisable as a place of evil. Of death. Of suffering. The way that it loomed over the city, its very shadow a menace, was enough to send even more chills through her body.

The Doctor was inside that building, condemned to death with the dawn. Mickey was inside the gaol. She bit her lower lip as they approached the gated entrance. What if this didn't work? What if they were too late? What if, the next time she saw them, all she found were their bodies? Well, Mickey's body and the Doctor's regenerated one?

No.

She mustn't think like that. This would work. Had to work. She trusted Dorothée. It was a good plan, the best.

The gates swung silently open and the constable that had been guiding them stepped to the side. "You have fifteen minutes to offer the condemned comfort. At first light, they will have serenity."

She followed the other mourners through the entrance, forcing back her sudden fear of being locked within. The archway that covered the entrance was short, opening into a wide courtyard that was dominated by a long line of...

Oh, god. They couldn't! It was just...just...

_Inhuman._

Guillotines. Beside each were a prisoner and a guard. As she watched, one by one the guards stepped behind their prisoners and pulled back their arms, apparently restraining them somehow.

The Doctor! If he were, and she shuddered to use the word, beheaded could he regenerate? Was it even possible? This plan _had_ to work, it just had to. There was no other choice, no other option. She wouldn't let him die.

_Not again. Never again._

She shook herself out of her contemplations as she realised that the other women had spread out through the courtyard, each intent upon reaching a prisoner. She had to find the Doctor. Had to find Mickey.

None of the prisoners wore much beyond trousers and socks. She wouldn't be able to find them by looking for a familiar pin-striped suit. Which meant she'd have to...

"Don't you see, Diktar? It _doesn't_ have to be this way! It doesn't have to end like this!"

The words were faint, but she would know that voice anywhere. The Doctor. It was him. Thank god, he was alive! She turned toward the sound and there they were. A little the worse for wear, perhaps. But alive.

And still in terrible danger.

They were being escorted into the courtyard by three men. By her estimation, two were guards and the third was probably the 'Diktar' that the Doctor had been addressing. Usually his prattle could turn even the most stubborn of souls to his cause, but something told her that it would have no effect. Not with this man.

"All things end, monsieur," the man replied.

_Everything must come to dust…all things. Everything dies._

She blinked, forcing back the words. No. Not today. Not here, not now. She slowly made her way toward them, intent upon reaching the Doctor. On reaching Mickey. On saving them.

"'S not right," Mickey protested. "This isn't how it's supposed to be. Guillotines were outlawed!"

"Once upon a time, yes, they were. Be grateful, child, for this opportunity."

"Grateful? Grateful!" She was close enough now to see the fury burning in the Doctor's eyes. "You might be grateful for the chance at death, but I'm not. Neither is Mickey. This isn't how it's supposed to go. Your history, your very presence here, is wrong! Nova Paris should be peaceful, benevolent, a lovely place to visit! Should have tourist attractions, good food, and bad tea. But it doesn't. Instead, it has this, this…parody of a utopia. Let us go, Diktar. We can fix this!"

"That has been said before, monsieur. They failed."

The Doctor leaned toward the smaller man, his expression intent. "I'm not them."

In an instant, she could see all the possibilities of the Doctor's actions spread out before her.

_I can see everything… All that is._

The man looked at the Doctor, wavering upon a decision.

_All that was…_

She was an observer, standing behind a man she knew to be Diktar.

A line of men stood before the guillotines, their expressions grim.

She knew the heads that rested upon the blocks were innocent; they were all innocent. However, she also knew that they would die. Had died. This was the past.

It had happened.

Not even she could change that fact.

"For the glory of Nova Paris. For the sake of serenity. For the regime. Kill them," Diktar's voice echoed through the courtyard and the men turned, each pulling the levers that would release the blades.

Diktar turned before the blades touched their victims. In his eyes she could see regret and resignation.

_All that ever could be…_

Diktar let them go, releasing their bonds and setting them free. However, before they could reach her, an explosion rocked the complex, sending her flying. When she opened her eyes, all she could see was dust and rubble.

And something else.

She could see two hands stretched out as if in a plea for help, buried beneath tons of rock and dirt. One dark-skinned, one light with a faint golden glow. Moment by moment, that glowing hand changed shape, changed form, and then it stopped. In the aftermath, in the stunned silence, she could only stare at them.

Neither hand moved.

_I think you need a Doctor._

Oh god. Please no. No, no, no, no.

She opened her eyes – when had she closed them? – and saw the guards ushering the Doctor and Mickey toward the guillotines. It hadn't happened. It didn't happen. It'd been a dream. Nothing more than a dream brought about by her own fearful imagination.

She hurried forward, keeping her eyes on her friends. By now Dorothée would've set the explosives. Time was running out.

"You there! Stop!" One of the guards who was stationed by another guillotine strode toward her.

Damnit! She hadn't come this far to lose them now. She kept her expression carefully neutral as the guard reached her.

"You are new here, yes?"

"Yes." Keep it simple, she told herself. Keep it safe.

"Then go to the prisoners, girl. You have only five minutes to comfort them before serenity. Standing here gawking does neither them nor yourself any good." Without bothering to wait for her response, he turned and walked back to his post.

She felt nearly faint with relief. Right. Enough delays.

She had a rescue to mount.

_To be continued..._


	6. Plan C

**Chapter 6: Plan C**

It couldn't end like this. It shouldn't end like this. Not strapped to a guillotine. Not with a five-stone blade hanging over his head. Not without being able to say goodbye to Rose. Not several decades and hundreds of miles from home.

His hands clenched into fists as he screwed his eyes shut. He heard someone walking towards them, but he didn't want to open his eyes. Any second now. Any moment. He'd hear the lever being pulled. Any...

"Rose?" the Doctor asked and he opened his eyes.

Sure enough, just to the side of the guillotine he was tied to and the Doctor's, was Rose. She was okay. She was brilliant. She was the best thing that he'd ever seen in his life.

"Doctor!" She made as if she wanted to move toward the Time Lord, but after a furtive glance at the guards, she stopped. "I'm here as one of the mourners."

"Mourners?" he asked and he was gratified that she did turn to look toward him for a moment before returning her attention to the Doctor.

"Yeah. They pay some of the women of the city to come in here and mourn those people who're about to be killed. I managed to get in an'-"

"Rose, you shouldn't be here," the Doctor interrupted, but he could tell that the other man was glad she was. One last time to see her. One last time to say goodbye.

Goodbye.

What a final word. Sort of like death when it came down to it. Oh, no. Not death. 'Serenity'. Whoever came up with that load of bollocks should've been shot. Then again, they probably had been. Or beheaded.

"Yes, I should. If you think I'd jus' let you…let both of you…" Her voice was shaky, as if she were about to cry. He felt horrible for doing this to her and it wasn't even his bloody fault. He was going to die, and she was going to see it, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

"Rose," he began, but she shot him a quelling glance. That was when he noticed that the guard by his guillotine seemed interested in their conversation. After a few moments, the man returned to his post, apparently satisfied with what he'd heard.

"You've got to get out of here, Rose. There isn't enough time. I don't want you to see this. Please, just go."

Hearing the Doctor's words, he suddenly realised the truth. He'd been holding onto a grain of hope that either the Time Lord or Rose would be able to save the day. Save their lives in just the nick of time. Something, anything, that would result in a different outcome.

There was no other outcome than 'serenity'.

"No," Rose said, shaking her head. "I'm not leaving you." She glanced toward the gaol, almost as if she were waiting for something in particular.

"Rose, I jus' wanted to say I'm..." Mickey searched for the words to continue, but, as he looked at her he realised that something was different about the way she was holding herself. Not as if she were convinced that this was the last time she'd see either of them alive again. Sure, she was scared, but there was more to it than that. Much more.

That was, of course, when the wall on the opposite side of the courtyard promptly exploded.

* * *

An explosion? 

An explosion! Yes! That could mean only one thing. There was a rebellion and Rose had found them. Oh, brilliant. Beautiful. Fantastic.

Plan C had worked after all. Ha!

He'd dance for joy were he not tied to a guillotine. Ah. Right. That still posed a particularly tricky problem. They had an explosion, and he had Rose, but he was still stuck.

Rose was crouched beside him, her hand shielding her eyes from the dust. When she turned to look at him, she moved her mouth as if she was speaking, but he couldn't hear her. Ah, of course. The explosion had been close enough to cause temporary damage to his ear drums. He'd be deaf for a short while, just long enough to be annoying, but nothing permanent.

She seemed to be saying something else, but he had a hard time clearly reading her lips. The dust and debris from the explosion had yet to settle and he found himself distracted by the movement of other figures through the dust cloud behind Rose. He knew there must be shouting, but, judging from the lack of coordination, they were as deaf as he.

Rose shook her head violently enough to catch his attention. Without looking at him, she stood and moved out of his line of sight. Not that he'd be of much use if one of the guards tried to attack her, but he could try. He could do something. Even if it was just to shout uselessly at them.

Anxiety began to build within him. Where was she? Why wouldn't she come back? But he couldn't call out to her as temporary deafness still had him gripped in a too-silent world.

Where was she?

That was when he became aware of movement behind him. Something touched his hand for a moment – Rose? – before the shackles that bound him to the guillotine fell away. He winced as his arms immediately fell forward, the sudden inrush of blood to his extremities leaving a tingling pain in its wake.

Forcing himself to move through the discomfort, he used his arms to push himself away from the guillotine. Death by beheading was not his favoured way to go by any means. Especially since that would forfeit the rest of his regenerations as effectively as a Dalek ray.

He wasn't finished with living yet and, knowing himself as well as he did, he never would be.

When he stood, he noticed that Rose had already released Mickey and was helping him to stand. Good. Everyone was all accounted for.

And then she was facing him, her expression asking if he was all right. He answered her with a smile, then reached for her. One quick, intense hug before she pulled away. Right. They had things to do.

Time to go and sort the mess history had made of Nova Paris.

* * *

Well, there was that, then. The Doctor and Mickey rescued. Well, as rescued as she could get them at the moment. But the distraction wouldn't last long unless Dorothée had something else planned. 

No, she couldn't have any other explosives. She'd just seen a couple and surely one alone couldn't've caused that much destruction.

Right?

She suppressed a niggling doubt of the explosive's force. She didn't want to think about having been that close to something that powerful.

"All right, then?" she asked them both, but Mickey only stared blankly at her while the Doctor shrugged.

Obviously, they were both deafened by the blast. Her hearing had returned shortly after the dust began to settle, but she'd managed to get down before the concussive force reached the two guillotines that had held her friends. The Doctor and Mickey hadn't been as lucky.

Right then. She'd just have to try sign language.

Holding her pointer finger and her thumb together, she tried to ask each of them if they were 'okay'. Thankfully, they nodded. Good. That was that. Time to get out of the gaol.

However, first things first. She couldn't let the other people – the poor innocent people – tied to the other guillotines remain where they were. She had to let them go. Motioning for the Doctor and Mickey to get out of the gaol, she raced toward the next guillotine in the line.

She could use Dorothée's sonic screwdriver to undo the locks one at a time. There were about fifteen other prisoners tied to the guillotines. Right. She cast a glance at the dust cloud that hid her movements from the guards. It was beginning to settle, which meant it'd only be a matter of time before her actions were noticed.

No time.

The words echoed the beat of her heart as she fumbled with the lock on the prisoner's shackles.

No time.

The sonic screwdriver was a comforting weight in her hands as she aimed the device at the lock. The shackles fell away.

Then she noticed that someone was at her side – the Doctor – who then helped the man get to his feet. She should've known. He wouldn't be able to leave these poor people any more than she could.

No time.

She moved down the line. It became a routine. She'd unlock the shackles with the sonic screwdriver and then either Mickey or the Doctor would help the newly released prisoner get their bearings.

And then time ran out. As she was fumbling with the sonic screwdriver to release the last prisoner, she became aware of a sudden silence in the courtyard. No more rain of debris, no more shouting, no more anything beside her own harsh breathing and that of her friends.

A menace lay over the gaol, and, when she looked up, she realised the problem.

They'd been discovered. Guards approached them from all sides, their faces marred with dirt, blood, sweat, and fierce anger.

She straightened her posture, sensing, rather than seeing, the Doctor and Mickey do the same.

Diktar pushed his way in front of the guards and glared at the three of them.

"What have you done? This was a peaceful city, a peaceful people, until you came. And then you do this! Trying to escape, setting free the worst criminals our society knows, and destroying half of the gaol! You leave me no choice."

He turned and motioned for his men to move forward. "Grant them serenity."

And, as she stared down the barrel of one of the guard's weapons, she felt a frisson of fear.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. They were supposed to have escaped.

Now all three of them were trapped. There was no escape.

* * *

Wicked! Oh, how she loved it when a plan came together. 

The explosion had gone off without a hitch and Rose should be well on her way to getting the Doctor and her friend freed from the guards' clutches. Which meant it was time for the next part of her plan.

Great thing about prisons was that it gave people time to think. She'd had enough time while she'd been in the city to find out what type of gaol this was. It was a prison for those who disagreed with the government. Sure, those who disagreed the most vehemently were killed. As were those who started asking questions or started dreaming about a better way of life.

That wasn't, however, the only way to rebel. Some had undoubtedly tried to work within the system. And, when they were caught, they'd end up here. The government couldn't kill them – they hadn't done anything wrong. But they could lock those people into the gaol and promptly forget about them.

Which meant something else. There already was some unrest out in the streets. Rose had seen it. She'd seen it. Give them enough of a nudge in the right direction and that unrest could change the world.

And, here she was, surrounded by the best sort of push a girl could ask for.

Rebels.

The whole lot of them.

And, if she were in their place, she'd be itching for the chance to get back at the government that had turned its back on her.

She grinned as she darted down the hallway, opening cells as she went. "Come on out, you lot! You're free!"

A few of the prisoners took her at her word, moving without delay into the hallway behind her. However more remained within their cells. They probably figured it was nothing more than a faint dream. This had been all they'd known. Sad, really.

"Oi! I'm telling you the truth. You're free! So come on out here and do some good. Or are you overly fond of the crappy meals and no-star accommodation of this place?" She poked her head into one of the cells, meeting the eyes of its lone occupant.

The prisoner was a tall, gangly man – more limbs than body. His thin, bony face and torso spoke of malnourishment. The burns on his skin spoke of torture. "Freedom?" he croaked, his voice obviously disused. "There is no such thing. Not here. Freedom is a dream that is forbidden."

"Not anymore," she said. "You can change that." Somehow, she sensed that this man was crucial to the success of her plan. If she could persuade him to come out, to go and give the populace of Nova Paris a good nudge, that would do it. That would fix history.

"How can one man affect something that ingrained? How can one man bring back a dream?"

"A man can move a mountain," she replied, remembering something the Professor had once told her. "All he needs is a long enough lever."

The man laughed bitterly. "And you have such a lever?"

She shook her head. "No, but you do." With one hand, she motioned back toward the cell entrance where some of the other freed prisoners were peering inside, obviously curious.

The prisoner looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding. "You speak wisely, mademoiselle. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps you're not. But we never learn if we don't try, no?"

"Exactly," she agreed, her grin widening all the more as he stepped out of his cell. As if this were the catalyst, the other prisoners left their cells.

The man introduced himself as Jean-Louis Vignes. He'd been a minor accountant in the governmental palace before he'd asked a question regarding a receipt. That fateful question had resulted in a permanent residence in the gaol.

"That," he explained, "was five years ago. It is time to fight back." He seemed to have regained his strength, adopting a proud posture that belied the apparent weakness of his body.

She knew they would have to face the guards at some point, as did Jean-Louis. However, there was no point in delaying the inevitable. By now Rose, the Doctor, and her friend would be long gone from the gaol.

Ahead, she could see the start of the damage caused by her bomb. Sunlight had begun to trickle in, defused by the dust remaining in the air.

Dawn had broken on a new day in Nova Paris. The prisoners were free.

When she reached the still-standing portion of the damaged wall, she paused to peer into the courtyard. There were the guards, of course. But why were they aiming their weapons at...?

Oh, cruk. They were pointing their weapons at Rose, the Doctor, and her friend.

"CRUK!" she cursed, wincing when Jean-Louis put his hand on her shoulder.

"What is it?" he asked.

"See for yourself," she replied, mentally categorising what she had in her pockets that might be of some use. She had a few more bombs, but those would cause too much damage. She had her gun, but that was far too anachronistic for this time period. Twenty-sixth century weaponry had no place in the twenty-second. Damnit all to bloody hell! She had to be able to do something.

Jean-Louis stepped around her and, upon seeing the scene in the courtyard, motioned for the other prisoners to move forward.

"It is time," he repeated his earlier words. "We cannot let this continue. They cannot keep us quiet any more. Come!"

And, with a roar of approval and barely suppressed anger, the freed prisoners swarmed through the opening, climbing over rocks and debris on their way into the courtyard.

_To be continued..._


	7. Vive la Révolution

**Chapter 7: Vive la Révolution**

No!

It wasn't supposed to go like this. He _knew_ it wasn't. They were supposed to be free and safe and back in the TARDIS by now. Oh, he knew Rose wouldn't let the other prisoners die. Same with the Doctor. They were both predictable that way. And, admittedly, he would've probably done the same.

But that need to rescue the others had led them to this. Not death by beheading. Death by something that looked like a cross between a shotgun and a _Star Trek_ phaser.

Damn it all anyway. His hands clenched into fists as he stole a glance, then another, at Rose and the Doctor. Rose's jaw was tight and, from that tiny movement, he could tell that she was blaming herself for this particular mess. The Doctor was his usual inscrutable self, but something about the way he held his body told him that he was feeling just as guilty.

He needed to do something. Rose had saved them from one fire. Maybe it was his turn.

He was about to start forward, to try and reason with the guards - especially now that he'd be able to hear their replies - or with Diktar LeMoreau. Maybe he could convince them that it wasn't their fault? Or that the Doctor and Rose had nothing to do with this, that they were innocent bystanders, and that he was the one they needed to focus on? But, no, that wouldn't work. Diktar had heard the Doctor's words, knew that he was a rebel element and proud of it.

Just when he had turned into a hero?

Once upon a time, he would've scoffed at those people who willingly gave their lives for others. He'd been convinced that he was nothing more than a coward. But he wasn't, was he? Because Rose had been right. So long ago, in a chip shop, just before she had disappeared and brought back the new Doctor, she'd been right.

_The Doctor showed me a better way of living your life… That you don't just give up. You don't just let things happen. You make a stand. You say no. You have the guts to do what's right when everyone else just runs away…_

He straightened his posture, staring down the barrel of the nearest guard's weapon.

Diktar LeMoreau was visible only through a slight gap between the men, but he knew what was about to come next as the man opened his mouth.

"No," Rose said in a fierce voice. "Not like this!"

Hope fled. He could see no way out. Nothing he could do, they could do, to stop this. Serenity would come for them no matter what.

_God, not like this_, he thought, mentally repeating her words.

He'd almost missed it at first. A low roar filled his ears and he thought it was caused by the frantic beating of his heart. However, the guards noticed it too.

That was when he recognised what he was hearing. And, as the guards turned toward the crumbled remains of the wall, he saw the confirmation.

The prisoners were out, they were free, and they were angry.

"Vive la révolution," he thought he heard the Doctor say from beside him.

* * *

She'd seen fights before, but nothing like this. This was war of a calibre never seen in the movies. But she couldn't do anything here. Not now. Not with the wave of anger that propelled the prisoners into attacking their oppressors. She knew that Dorothée had had something to do with this, but she couldn't see her friend amongst the crowd. A flicker of movement near the wall, just inside the gaol, revealed a brief glimpse of dark armour but the other woman did not show herself.

Shouts, screams, punches, the sound of flesh hitting flesh, groans of pain, yells of triumph, and the pounding of feet against the hard ground echoed and reverberated through the courtyard.

"Freedom!" the prisoners roared.

She backed away slowly, seeing the Doctor and Mickey do the same. This was the prisoners' battle, not theirs.

The Doctor grabbed her hand, entwining their fingers as they stood in the shadow cast by the guillotine. They couldn't leave the courtyard - the riot had encompassed most of the area. They'd be pulled into the fight should they try. Their best bet was to wait. However, despite her earlier anger with the Doctor, she couldn't deny that just holding his hand raised her spirits.

She winced as a guard was knocked to the ground by a particularly vicious punch, but someone - a tall, gangly prisoner - prevented the attacker from making a killing blow.

"Not like this!" She could barely hear the words over the sound of the fighting, but the man had to shout in order to be heard. "Disable them, keep them from following us, but don't kill. They're as much victims as we are!"

The attacker shook his head violently.

"To show them a better way, we have to be better ourselves." Though the words were spoken, they carried all the power of a shout.

She was impressed. After everything that had happened to them. After everything that had been done to them during their captivity, they were still willing to show mercy. When she turned toward the Doctor, she could see him grinning fiercely. Yes. This was how it should go.

This was what should happen.

Slowly, the fighting began to quiet down save for a few pockets of struggle between guards and prisoners. Soon, even those died out.

Only the prisoners and some of the paid mourners remained standing. A mixture of former convicts and guards lay on the ground. Some of the men were probably dead judging from the amount of blood surrounding them and their motionless bodies. However, the majority of those on the courtyard floor were still alive, merely injured or unconscious.

"FREEDOM!" The apparent leader of the prisoners - the tall, gangly man - shouted.

"FREEDOM!" The words were echoed, reverberating across the courtyard. "FREEDOM! FREEDOM! FREEDOM!"

Somehow through the shouts, through the fists thrust into the air in victory, through the actions of the prisoners' leader, she could see possibilities expand before her. Where in one future, the regime remained, she could see others. More prevalent, more powerful, more true than the others.

_All that could be…_

She could see Nova Paris. The regime had fallen years ago. Statues had been erected in the memory of those who had lost their lives in the battle for the future, the battle for their dreams.

She could read the plaque on one of those statues, a figure of a man - the prisoners' leader? - reaching toward the stars.

'To live is to dream. To dream is to live. - Jean-Louis Vignes'

_I think you need a..._

"Rose, can you hear me? Rose!"

The Doctor. She could hear the Doctor, but why did he sound so frantic? And when had she closed her eyes?

"Doctor? What's wrong with her?" Mickey, she identified.

Awareness returned to her in a rush of sight and sound as she opened her eyes. The prisoners were still shouting, still crying out in joy for their tiny victory. A battle won, but not the war. Not yet.

_But soon…_

No. She blinked, mentally forcing away the words. What was happening to her?

The Doctor. His face was close to hers, his worried brown eyes staring intently into her own. At the edge of her vision she could see his hands, outstretched for a moment before dropping, almost as if he'd been caught in the act of trying to cradle her face between them.

"What-?" She paused, licked her lips, and tried again. "What 'appened?"

"Why don't you tell me?" the Time Lord asked, and in his expression she could see fear.

"There was..." She stopped and then shook her head. This wasn't the place. Not here in this courtyard in Nova Paris, and not in front of Mickey. Not for what she wanted to say, for what she remembered. "No. Not here. Not yet. When we get back home."

The Doctor frowned, obviously unhappy with her words. "Okay. Are you sure you're all right?"

She smiled grimly. "I'm always all right." That she was echoing back his words after Madame du Pompadour dawned on her only after she caught his reflexive wince.

"Sorry," she whispered, but he seemed not to have heard her.

"Doctor, Rose, they're moving." Mickey's voice called their attention to the prisoners.

And they were. The men were moving toward the gates and, from there, she supposed that their destination would be the centre of government. Wherever the dictator lived or worked, would be her guess. Judging from the mood of the city, the tension that she'd witnessed as an undercurrent - the same tension that had brought the wrongness of the society to her attention - the men would be joined by ordinary citizens.

"It's a revolution," she said.

"It is," the Doctor agreed. "It's been building for a long time. Without dreams, without something to strive for, they're stuck. This is it, nothing more, so they start to rebel. Oh, it starts quietly. A few whispers in the streets. A thought at the back of people's minds. What if? What if something was different? What if this isn't how life is supposed to be? Then someone starts to speak out, but they're taken into custody quickly. Can't let the unrest spread, after all. Only thing is, once it starts it can never, ever stop. Never, ever. It just grows bigger and bigger. Sure, some don't act on it. But they think it. And thoughts are power. So, maybe a few more speak up, and a few more. The Constables are busy picking up the pieces of their slowly eroding society. Taking in the 'rebel' elements, sentencing them to 'serenity'. Yet, still, it spreads. Whispers in the streets, discussions in homes and businesses. What if? What if there's something more?"

She nodded. It made sense, really. So much sense. And she'd seen it happening. And now it was here. Revolution.

"'If' is the most powerful word in the universe. When one starts to dream, to imagine the possibilities, the 'ifs', this is the result. A rebellion against an oppressive regime. A rebellion that can't stop, can never stop, not until the society can dream again." He cast her a warm glance. "You helped start that. Found some rebels to help you, released some prisoners, and started the wheel rolling. That's what you did, Rose."

She blinked. "What I did?" How could she have done that? She'd had help from Dorothée, of course. But how could she've done that? All of that on her shoulders? Started the wheel rolling? Impossible.

"Yeah. You and your rebel friends returned dreams of the future to this society. History'll reset, take into account these actions and go back to the way it should be. That's what you did."

"Oh." So this was what being a Time Lord - no, what being the Doctor - was like. A rush of accomplishment, of joy, flowed through her and she smiled. She had done it.

Rose Tyler.

Not the Doctor. Not Mickey.

Rose Tyler.

With, of course, a little help from a friend.

* * *

He'd seen a flicker of gold in her eyes.

For just a moment, a brief, agonising moment, he'd seen gold. After she'd stood there, frozen, her eyes closed as the prisoners celebrated their victory, time had coalesced around her. The future and all its possibilities had been an open book, and he was certain that she'd been perusing its pages. Then it'd been gone, almost as if it had been nothing more than a dream.

He'd agreed to let it drop until they were back at the TARDIS, but the fear was still with him. It still caused his hearts to pound a staccato beat within his chest. What if he'd miscalculated?

What if, all this time, he hadn't withdrawn the entire Vortex from Rose's body? What if something had been left behind? What if his sacrifice had been for naught?

He shook himself. No. That wasn't possible. He wouldn't let it be possible. It was just a side-effect, perhaps. Looking into the heart of the TARDIS was something that no one had been meant to do, but she'd done it. She'd managed to control the Vortex through the TARDIS. Managed to save him by warping space and time to do her will.

He doubted that he could've done that in her place. But, for the love of a friend - for the love of Rose - he would've tried.

But that choice had had consequences. He'd regenerated and Rose…well, she'd forgotten everything about the Vortex - as she should. But he'd seen something else besides the gold in her eyes.

He'd seen knowledge. The same knowledge that burned within him. The exact same.

Shaking himself out of his contemplations, he gestured for his companions to follow him. "Back to the TARDIS."

Now that the revolution had started, it couldn't stop until it was through. Change was coming to Nova Paris. Change for the better.

They were there for the start. He didn't want to be here for the ending.

Rose looked back toward the crumbled wall, her face a mask of indecision. She shrugged for a moment and turned back to him, smiling faintly.

"Yeah," she said. "But we can't leave. Not yet. I want to say goodbye to my friend."

He must've looked confused because she explained. "That explosion. It wasn't me, it was a friend. I just want to say goodbye."

Goodbye. Of course she wanted to say goodbye. "Will your friend be able to find you by the TARDIS?"

She smiled. "Yeah."

"Okay," he replied. Maybe it was another allowance, another apology. A 'sorry I changed you so much', 'sorry I left you and Mickey in the fifty-first century', 'sorry you've been affected so badly by the Vortex'. His jaw clenched as the last thought occurred to him.

What if he'd misjudged the effect the Vortex could have on a human girl? What if he'd been blinded by his success? Blinded by the fact he'd apparently saved her, even at the cost of his ninth life?

He suddenly realised a possible truth. She wasn't just Rose Tyler. Not anymore.

And it was entirely his fault.

_To be continued..._


	8. Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?

**Chapter 8: Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?**

She waited until Rose, the Professor, and their friend were gone before she carefully picked her way through the rubble and into the courtyard. Much as she wanted to run out, to show herself, to launch herself into the Professor's arms and shock him, she couldn't.

The Doctor wasn't meant to know that she was there. Not meant to know she was still alive after the Time War. Not yet, at least. Their first meeting had to be in her past, the Doctor's future. Otherwise, the fragile fabric of the time-space continuum might unravel. Only Rose could know she was there.

But she'd heard Rose's words. She'd just called her a friend, not mentioned her by name. She hadn't told her not to say anything about her, but somehow Rose'd known. Perhaps it was part and parcel of her connection with the Vortex. Ah, it didn't matter.

At least, it didn't matter yet.

Time was fragile enough as it was. She couldn't help it along, much as she wanted to. Just as she couldn't help Rose. The other woman's connection to the Vortex was strong, and was getting stronger all the time. One day soon the after-effects would be known, would be obvious.

Just not now.

Once she was free of the rubble, she broke into a jog. She needed to get her bike and, from there, head to the TARDIS to see Rose. There was one last thing she had to do before she returned to her time. One last gift she had to give.

One last goodbye. Though, admittedly in her case, it was more a 'see you later'. The intricacies of time travel in a sentence. She'd met them before. They would meet her soon. It was enough to give her a headache even in the best of days.

Right, then. She had history to set in motion. Someone had to give the Doctor and Rose a nudge in the right direction to find her.

And that was what her gift was for.

_You'll see me soon, Professor. In my past.

* * *

_

After reclaiming the Doctor's and Mickey's clothes and the sonic screwdriver from the prison compound, the remainder of the walk back to the TARDIS was spent in silence. Mickey had tried to start a conversation, but neither she nor the Doctor were in the mood to talk. Something was wrong. She could feel it in the clench of his hand around hers, in the tiny glances he gave her as they walked, and in the knowledge that filled her mind.

Somehow, she knew that she wasn't meant to remember. Wasn't supposed to remember the Vortex, remember the kiss, remember all the possible futures, or the past. What was she now?

Not entirely human, she suspected. She wasn't meant to know what the turn of the earth felt like beneath her feet. Wasn't supposed to know what it was like to fall off into eternity, to see what could happen. She was just supposed to know the present and her own past, her personal past. Not a planet's past, or another person's past.

_I looked into the TARDIS. And the TARDIS looked into me._

_…I am the Bad Wolf. I create myself._

Her steps faltered for a moment as the memory washed through her. No. She wouldn't give in, wouldn't let the Doctor know that something was wrong. He'd try to fix it, somehow. And she feared that she knew what he might try.

He'd try to save her at the cost of another regeneration. But that wasn't necessary. She knew it wasn't.

She was fine. Different, but fine. She wasn't dying, not anymore. She could handle it, could control it. Admittedly not well, as evidenced by her earlier paralysis, but she'd be able to learn.

She still was Rose Tyler. Human, yes. But a little something more.

When they reached the TARDIS, she held back, releasing the Doctor's hand. "I'll just be out here for a mo'. I'll say goodbye an' then come inside, 'kay?"

He didn't look happy about it, but he nodded. "Right. And then..." His voice trailed off, but she knew what he wanted.

"We'll talk," she agreed to his unspoken request.

After another nod, he opened the door and slipped inside, leaving her alone with Mickey.

"Rose, are you okay? I mean, really?"

She fought back the urge to snap at him. It wasn't his fault that she didn't have the patience for this right now. Hell, she'd almost seen him killed and what was it that she wanted to do? Snap at him. Snap at the Doctor. Damn it all, anyway. She had a lot on her mind.

The image of Mickey and the Doctor tied to the guillotines flashed through her mind. "Yeah," she said, offering him a faint smile. "'M fine. You?"

Mickey grinned. "Great. Fantastic, really. Just played a minor part in startin' a revolution and, even better, my head's still attached to my neck. But that's me." His expression grew serious as he continued, "I'm more worried about you."

She shrugged. "Yeah. Told ya, I'm fine." Well, as fine as one could be considering she had all of time and space swirling about in her head.

"Liar," he teased, using a tone that once upon a time could've encouraged a smile.

He still knew her too well, but she didn't bother to answer. She let her silence answer for her.

After a long, awkward moment, Mickey shoved his hands into his pockets. "Right, then. S'pose I'll just…go inside."

She gave him a tight smile. With a shrug, Mickey opened the TARDIS door and walked inside, closing the it behind him.

In the distance, she could hear the low rumble of a motorbike over the even fainter sounds of the riot making its way through the city, and she smiled. She knew Dorothée couldn't come any closer to the TARDIS – there was always the chance that the Doctor might look through the scanner and spot her. Through her experiences with the Vortex, as Bad Wolf, she knew what was meant to happen.

The Doctor couldn't know about Dorothée. Not yet. But soon.

She crossed the street quickly and turned into the alleyway where she'd first met the other woman. Something told her that this would be where she'd find Dorothée, and, sure enough, there she was, leaning against her bike.

Dorothée grinned at her as she slid her mirror shades off her face. "See? Rescue some prisoners, start a riot, change history. Not bad for a girls' day out, wouldn't you say?"

That startled a laugh out of her. "No, not at all. Can't say it was planned that way, though." Was it only yesterday that she'd stormed away from the Doctor, still angry about what had happened in the fifty-first century? It seemed so petty now.

"Never is," the other woman said wisely. "But, well, gotta roll with the punches that life gives us. Glad to see that your lot's okay. I'll admit I was a little worried there, but you came out all right."

"Yeah, with a lot of help from the prisoners. From the Doctor. And from you. I saw you back there, at the courtyard, hiding behind the wall. But I knew you couldn't come out. Couldn't let the Doctor see you. At least, not yet." In her mind, she could hear singing.

_There was this singing…_

She shook herself and realised that Dorothée had held out a hand toward her, outstretched as if she were about to touch her shoulder. "Sorry. Don't know what came over me."

Dorothée frowned, biting her lower lip as if she wanted to say something but couldn't. "I wish there was something I could do, Rose."

"But there isn't," she completed. "I know. This is somethin' I've got to figure out for myself."

"Not alone, though. Never alone. Remember that." Dorothée looked at her intently.

"Yeah." Sometimes, though, she wondered. "I wanted to say thanks, though. For helpin' me out, for helpin' me rescue the Doctor and Mickey." She reached into her pocket and pulled out the sonic screwdriver. "Here, thanks for loanin' me this. Came in handy."

Dorothée accepted the device with a slight nod, sliding it into a pocket in her armour. "You're welcome, Rose. But it wasn't me that did the rescuing. That was all you. I just helped from the sidelines."

She smiled shyly at the compliment. "Couldn't've done it without the distraction."

Dorothée grinned. "Explosions can be useful. Oh, before I forget-" The other woman reached into a different pocket and pulled out what looked to be a playing card and pressed it into her hand. "-see that he gets this, 'kay?"

She nodded, feeling the sharp edges of the card dig into her palm. "Yeah. But, Dorothée, before you go, who are you? Really?" Even the part of her that was forever Bad Wolf couldn't tell her that. All she could see was the other woman's shadow spread through time, forward and backward, entwining briefly with others but never constant, never steady.

"A friend," the other woman replied before pulling her into a loose hug. "Take care of him, Rose. He needs it. Always has, always will. And take care of yourself. I'll be seeing you around, yeah?" Dorothée released her and stepped away, climbing onto the motorcycle.

The rumble of the motor echoed through the alleyway and, with a jaunty wave, Dorothée gunned the engine and sped off. A brilliant flash of light and a wave of Vortex energy later, she was gone.

She suddenly understood the Doctor's tendency of putting his hands into his pockets, as she did the same. She could feel the lint caught at the bottom of each pocket and she could feel the turn of the Earth beneath her feet.

It was something to hold onto, something real. There wouldn't always be a hand to hold, after all.

She sighed as she pulled one hand out of the pocket, the hand that still clutched Dorothée's card. It was a message, she knew. Something that only the Doctor would understand.

She frowned as she turned the playing card over in her hand.

It was an ace of clubs.

* * *

He wondered if this was what insanity was like. Time was slipping between his fingertips and he couldn't hold on, couldn't force it to stand still. He couldn't protect her forever, especially not from herself.

He'd seen gold in her eyes.

Damn it, what had he done? What had he done to her? Forced her into? Oh, he knew that she'd been the one who had made the choice. She'd wanted to come back to him on Satellite Five. She'd wanted to save him, and she had. She had, of course she had.

But the price. Her humanity? Her soul? All sacrificed and for what? Why him?

He gripped the edge of the console, feeling the edges press into his skin. This body was so tactile. He needed to touch, to taste, to see. He needed her hand to be held within his. He needed to see the universe through her eyes. He was a selfish old fool.

The hum of the TARDIS increased in pitch, almost as if she were denying his thoughts.

"Doctor?" Mickey asked tentatively, causing him to start. He hadn't heard the doors open as he was too embroiled in his self-accusations and worry to notice.

"Yes?"

"Rose, is she...will she…is everything okay?" Ah, Mickey. He'd always kept him on the outside, hadn't he? But, this time, he had to.

He turned toward the other man, his smile somewhat forced. "Oh, she's fine. Everything's fine. Spectacular, really."

"Now I know you're lying," Mickey said, folding his arms before him. "Don't think I don't. I might not know you as well as Rose, but I know, okay? There's something wrong, isn't there? With Rose?"

He sighed, the breath leaving his lips with an almost explosive force. "Maybe. Possibly. I don't know." How he hated those words.

Mickey didn't look happy after hearing that answer, but it was all that he could give. He didn't know. Had no clue. Rose could be fine. She might not be. He just didn't know.

"She's different, y'know. Different from when me an' her…well, she's jus' different. She's more like you, now."

He winced. He'd never wish that upon anyone, let alone someone he cared for. "I never..."

"You never asked for it?" Mickey completed, showing an uncanny understanding. "Too bad. It's happened, Doctor. An' I don't know if there's a way to fix it. D'you?"

He shook his head sadly. No. He had no idea if he could or if it was even possible.

Bad Wolf had left its mark on all of them – even Mickey - in its aftermath. He'd regenerated and Rose…oh, Rose.

"What've I done?" he asked, but no one had an answer. Not Mickey. Not the TARDIS.

Not even the universe.

* * *

If he had to describe the Doctor's expression in one word, there was only one he could possibly use.

Remorseful.

The last incarnation of the Time Lord had been guilt-ridden. He'd known it from the moment that he'd swanned into their lives. This one seemed to be the same. Hid it behind a mask, perhaps, but the same.

Every time someone was hurt – especially Rose – or whenever someone was suffering – again, Rose – it was there. Remorse, guilt. It was always there.

But it wouldn't help. All the guilt, all the remorse in the world couldn't help Rose. Not now. She'd changed ever since she'd first met the Doctor. Bit by bit, she'd become something new. Rose, but different. Better in some ways, really. Better because she was far stronger than she ever had been. More independent. More, well, Doctor-like.

"What've you done?" He repeated the Time Lord's words. "Nothing. You've done nothing. It jus' happened. 'S not your fault. Not anyone's. It just 'appened." It wasn't an accusation, really. It was just a statement of fact. True, there were aspects that wouldn't've happened without the Doctor in her life but there were others that would've.

He wasn't too proud to admit that she would've left him behind sometime. She'd always been destined for more. For, he now realised, this.

The Doctor frowned. "Maybe." It was an allowance, not an agreement. There was a shadow in his expression, something that hadn't been there before.

"Are you all right?" he ventured. He had to ask, even if he was told a lie.

The Time Lord turned toward him, his eyes strangely dead. "I'm always all right."

Two days ago, the Doctor's face had been a mask. When Rose had asked him if he was all right, his response had been the same. The exact same. It was a lie. He'd known it then, just as he knew it now.

He sighed and turned toward the interior of the TARDIS. There wasn't anything he could do. He couldn't talk to the Doctor, because the other man would remain stubbornly silent. He couldn't help, because there was nothing he could do.

"I'm gonna go make some tea. Want some?" he offered, desperate to do something, anything.

"Not thirsty."

Of course not. But at least he'd tried. Only Rose could possibly reach him now and she was the problem.

Great. Wonderful. Fantastic.

This was what being the tin dog was like, he supposed. He'd tried, he always would. But he couldn't succeed. Not with the pair of them.

They were far too stubborn for their own good.

_To be concluded..._


	9. Consequences

**Chapter 9: Consequences**

In her mind's eye, she could see him again. The Doctor, her first Doctor. She could see him, his eyes infinitely sad, as he leaned over her. She could barely hear his words, but she knew that they were his final offering. One last kiss before he was gone.

He'd kissed her to save her life, but she knew it was something more. There was more to it than just saving her. It'd been his final wish. She'd wanted him to kiss her before, and when he had, she hadn't even remembered.

The Doctor had kissed her, and she'd forgotten. Her hands curled into fists as she crossed the street back to the TARDIS. The last moments she'd remembered involved Barcelona, his daft explanation of what was happening to him, and him uttering his favourite phrase just before he burst into flames.

_It's like…there was this singing…_

She shivered as a chill ran through her, despite the pleasant temperature. What had happened to her? Why was it still happening to her?

When she reached the TARDIS, she leaned her head against its comforting shape, willing strength to return to her before she opened the door. The Doctor would want to talk about it. About what was wrong with her, what she knew, what she'd seen. Somehow, she doubted he'd be pleased with the answer of 'all of time and space'.

Right. Enough of this moping. She faced her problems head on. Then she dealt with them. 'What ifs' weren't for her, despite the fact that she could see the possibilities spread out through time.

Bracing herself, she opened the door and stepped into the TARDIS. The normal hum of the time-ship was strangely muted. Almost as if something were equally as wrong with it as with her. She was about to ask the Doctor what was wrong with the TARDIS when she caught her first glimpse of his expression.

There was so much pain, so much guilt, and so much anger etched into the lines of his face. Her heart went out to him as she realised just what he must be thinking. He blamed himself for what had happened. Blamed himself for whatever was wrong with her now. He might be a new new Doctor, but that hadn't changed. He always tended to blame himself even when he could do nothing.

"Stop it," she commanded. The words echoed harshly in the relative silence of the console room.

"What?"

"That!" she explained, waving her hand as if to encompass his expression and life in general with the Doctor. "Blamin' yourself. 'S not your fault, okay? So stop it."

"It is my fault, Rose!" The Doctor rounded on her and, in his eyes, she could see a brewing storm. "I was the one who-"

She cut him off. "The one who regenerated because of me? The one who kissed me and didn't say?" It wasn't fair, she knew it wasn't. This wasn't how she'd imagined this discussion, but imagination was frequently wrong.

She'd imagined kissing the Doctor's previous self. Reality had been far better.

The Time Lord winced. "You remember that."

"Yes, I remember that! I remember lots of things. I remember the feel of the Earth spinning underneath my feet. I remember the future, the past, the present. I remember things that I'm fairly certain I have no business knowin'. I remember you kissing me. I remember the feel of your lips on mine and exactly how it felt as the Vortex left me and flowed into you. I knew it was a goodbye. And you never even said. Never even mentioned it!" She crossed her arms before her. It was almost a defensive posture.

The Doctor began to pace, waving his hands in emphasis. "What was I supposed to say, Rose? Hello, I'm the new new Doctor. Did I mention that I snogged you just before I regenerated? Fancy another go?"

"Yes! No! Damn it, I don't know. But you could've at least _tried_!" Now she knew she was being unreasonable. There really hadn't been a chance to do much of anything after the regeneration. There was the Sycorax, New New York and Cassandra, the werewolf, Sarah Jane, and then eighteenth century France. They'd never stopped to regroup. Never stopped to even consider the consequences of their actions in their own lives.

"And you could've at least tried to let me know what was going on! How long've you been remembering Satellite Five? The Vortex? The kiss?"

"Not long," she admitted. It would've happened anyway, right? It wasn't Dorothée's fault, let alone the trip through the Vortex. It had just happened.

He seemed to come to a decision. "Rose, we need to go to the medical room. I need to scan you. Make sure that it isn't hurting you."

"'S not," she said. "I'm fine."

"Let me be the judge of that," the Doctor snapped, and then winced. "Sorry, I just..."

"You're worried. I know, Doctor. 'M fine. Jus' a little rough around the edges, but fine. I'm still me, yeah? An' this thing, this remnant of Bad Wolf, is just that. It's not hurting me."

"Please." It was one word, just one. But through the worry and the fear in his eyes, she could suddenly see something else. Something far more ephemeral.

_There was this singing..._

"Yeah. Okay."

* * *

There was an unfamiliar distance between them as they walked through the halls of the TARDIS. Their shoulders brushed against each other. It was the only tangible reminder that they were here, they were together, and that they were – for the moment – safe. However, despite that contact, he couldn't read her. Couldn't tell what she was thinking, what she was feeling. Couldn't tell if the Bad Wolf had overwhelmed everything that she was.

What had he done to her? Oh, he knew she didn't want him to blame himself. But what else could he do? It was his fault. He'd brought her along, he'd shown her the universe, and for what?

For her to end up like this? Seeing the universe as he did? Surely it'd drive her mad. It was only because of who he was, what he was, that he could withstand it. How could she? How could Rose Tyler, twenty-first century human, survive the Vortex? Sure, she'd done it once, but at what cost? One of his lives? That was nothing. He had spares – not many, admittedly, but they were there. He'd do it again. In a heartsbeat. But what if he was wrong?

His hand curled into a fist and he wished that he dared take her hand. He needed to feel her living flesh pressed against his, but he couldn't force himself to reach out for her. Not after what he'd done. He didn't deserve it.

That was why he was startled when he felt her hand slip into his own. The gentle pressure was almost enough to break him, but he couldn't. Not now. Not ever. Not while there was a chance that he could do something to save her.

She stopped, tugging on his hand until he turned to face her. "'M fine, Doctor. You don't have to blame yourself, yeah? It was my choice back then, 's my choice now. You can check me over all you want, but you're not goin' to find anything wrong with me. Oh, maybe a few more brain cells are bein' used than before, but that's it."

If only he could be certain of that. "I'm sorry, Rose."

"Doctor, I'm not gonna accept an apology for somethin' you didn't do, okay? So stop it! Look, let's just get this over with, yeah?"

He wasn't certain if she was referring to her upcoming examination, or their lack of discussion. But she didn't understand, not really. It was his fault. All of it. But he couldn't make her see that particular truth. "Yeah," he allowed, though it wasn't a concession.

She sighed. "Let's go, then."

They resumed walking. Down the halls, through open doors, and up one of the many flights of stairs. The medical room was farther away than usual, but he suspected that the TARDIS had a hand in that. Rose needed time - as did he - to process what had happened, what was about to happen.

Despite her certainty that nothing was wrong with her, he couldn't accept her words on faith. He needed proof, tangible proof, that she was okay.

He didn't want to think of what he'd do if she wasn't.

"And here we are! One room for all things medical," he announced as he pushed open the door with his free hand. They'd been there before, of course. Far too often. It was inevitable that someone would get scratched, or cut, or bruised, or burned, or broken during their adventures. However, this time was different. She could be fine, she might not be. But he had to know. And knowing was half the battle. Wait, that was G.I. Joe.

So where to begin?

Best to start simple, he decided. Simple was good. Simple was easy. Simple could spot things that hard might not. Well, sometimes. "Sit down," he told her, his voice soft. He regretted some of his earlier words, but not his guilt. Never his guilt.

Maybe he should've told her. Should've told her lots of things, probably, but he'd always pushed it aside. 'Later' was his favourite word, it seemed, if only in his mind.

Rose climbed onto one of the beds and let her legs dangle off the edge. She couldn't touch the floor that way and she gently swung her feet as she waited.

Right. Simple was best. Temperature, breathing, heartbeat. That should do for a start. He walked to her side, murmuring his actions as he gently grasped her wrist between his fingers. There, he could feel her heartbeat just beneath his fingertips. It amazed him how fragile humans were. Despite all their strength, there was only one tiny heart beating beneath their chests. Only one, and, eventually, that one would stop.

His hearts lurched at the thought of her heart stopping. One day it would. He knew it would. Nothing could last forever. Not even Rose.

Ah. Heartbeat was fine, if a trifle elevated. She was watching him carefully as he turned his attention to her breathing. One breath, two, three, four. There was no evidence that she was labouring to breathe, despite the slight quickening of her breaths.

Her eyes. He cradled her face between his palms, resisting the urge to search her mind without permission. It'd be easy to see, really, if she were 'fine' that way. However, he couldn't. It wouldn't be right, especially since this was Rose.

Her brown eyes were clear but for a tiny flicker of gold. Fear still ran through him at the sight, but there was little he could do.

"So, 'm I gonna live?" she asked, humour colouring her tone.

He winced, but he couldn't lie to her. "For now. But I'm not finished yet." He released her face, trailing his fingers across her cheeks in a brief caress before he turned away. There was so much he wished he could tell her. So much he wished he could say.

Rose sighed. "It's a bit like having a telly in your head, y'know. This Bad Wolf...thing. Only problem is that it doesn't like stickin' to one channel. Kinda like whenever we're at Mum's an' you get control of the remote. It just can't sit still. But it doesn't happen all the time. Just sometimes. When there's somethin' important about to happen, I think. Something that'd cause a major change in time, perhaps? I dunno. It's a bit strange, though." She sounded curious, which could be considered a good thing.

However, he knew the truth. She was seeing possibilities. Infinite possibilities that stretched from a single moment. He could see that all the time. "Doesn't it drive you mad?" he asked, unable to stop himself. He paused in his reach for the scanner, letting his fingers rest upon its base as he awaited her answer.

"Not really. Well, maybe a bit. But I've seen things like this before. 'S like I can handle it now. It's a bit weird, really. Don't think I would've been able to before…" Her voice trailed off.

He completed the sentence in his mind. Before Bad Wolf. Before he'd changed. Before…before was even a possibility. He pulled the scanner off the shelf and returned to her side. "Before?" he prompted as he switched on the scanner.

"Before you," she whispered, meeting his eyes.

He paused, frozen, captured like a moth to her flame at the truth in her words. But if she'd never met him ( he'd've died ), she never would've had this knowledge. She'd never have become Bad Wolf. She wouldn't be his Rose Tyler. "You might've been better off without me," he murmured, unable to stop the words even as he began to scan her.

"Don't say that," Rose protested, lifting her hand to touch his own. "This is better. Bein' here is better, okay? I made a choice, Doctor. I chose to be here. I chose to be here with _you_. The only way you're gettin' rid of me is if you kick me out the door. An', even then, I'd find a way back."

She would. He knew she would, and the TARDIS would probably help her. But he'd made a decision after they'd seen Sarah Jane. It would have to be her choice or that of fate in the end. He was tired of losing the people he loved, of forcing them away, or leaving them behind. He made a show of staring intently at the scanner, though the Gallifreyan text scrolled past his unseeing eyes.

Rose continued, her words washing over him as he finally dragged his attention back to the scanner. "I'm fine, Doctor. Your scanner'll prove it. And then we can go back to doin' what we always do. Savin' the universe, one planet – or one person – at a time."

His lips quirked into a smile. It was a good summary of what they tended to do. "Yeah." If only he could be certain that she was okay...ah. And there it was. Just as she'd predicted.

There was more activity than what was considered human-normal in her brain, but not dangerously so. Her mind had apparently learned to cope with the additional information. No evidence of strain, no evidence of injury, no evidence other than that additional amount of cranial activity that anything might be wrong.

"What's it say?" she asked, and in her tone he could hear a measure of fear. So she was hiding some of the truth from him. On one hand, she was certain that she was fine. On the other, she wasn't as sure.

"Aside from the busily firing synapses in your mind, you're fine. Brilliant. Wonderful. Fantastic." His smile widened, encouraged by his relief as he concluded. "Healthy." He switched off the scanner and put it down on one of the tables.

Rose released a whistling breath between her teeth and returned his smile. "Good! See? Nothing to worry about, then."

"Oh, there's plenty to worry about," he corrected as he held out his hand. When she took it, he helped her off the table. "Will you like our next destination? Will revolutions succeed or will they fail? Will another war be won or lost? Will the planets stop spinning? What's the question to which the answer is 42? What's the price of tea in China?" 'Will you snog me back if I snog you?' he added mentally.

She laughed, thumping his arm. "You're daft, you are."

He grinned. "It's all part of my charm, really."

"Yeah," she agreed, reaching up to touch his cheek with her free hand. "It is."

He leaned into her touch. She was healthy. She was fine. She was alive, and here, and his. Well, not specifically his. There was the matter of her ex-boyfriend lurking about the TARDIS. Right. Enough of that. "Thank you," he told her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

"What for?" she asked as her brow furrowed in confusion.

Oh, if he listed out his reasons, they'd be there all day. And all night. And, quite probably, well into next week. "Saving the day, saving me, saving Mickey, starting a revolution, not getting killed, coming with me, and being you."

She blushed at the compliment and ducked her head, but not before he could see her pleased smile. She'd learned so much. Done so much. She was still Rose Tyler. Still his Rose. Just a little bit different because of him, or, perhaps, in spite of him.

"Thanks, Doctor. But I did have help... Oh! Blimey, I almost forgot." She reached into her pocket and pulled out something that looked like a playing card. "My friend - the one who helped me? – wanted me to give this to you."

He accepted the card after giving her a curious glance. "Your friend? Why would they want to give me-" His voice cut off as he turned over the card.

It was an ace of clubs.

There'd been an explosion…and he was holding an ace of clubs. Oh, it couldn't be. It couldn't, but it was. The evidence had been right before him all along. It was practically written across Nova Paris in blazing letters. 'Ace was here'.

He smiled wistfully. Oh, Ace. She'd survived. Of course she had. Time's Vigilante was too stubborn to die, even for the sake of a war. But why hadn't she come to see…

Oh.

_Oh_. Obvious, really. She couldn't see him now, because he couldn't meet her yet. She was preserving history. Who knows what might've happened had she seen him. Reapers would probably have been the least of their worries. Which also meant that there was a visit to a certain Rift in his near future.

"She was one of us, wasn't she? I mean, she was once your companion, yeah? Then moved on?" Rose asked.

He nodded. Ace had moved on without him, gone on to become like him, only on a more limited scale. Protecting Earth from the Rift, and, apparently, here, protecting him. Guiding Rose, too, he suspected. "Yes."

"Thought so," she said thoughtfully. "There was somethin' about her that was familiar. Reminded me of you, actually."

"Ah, obviously the wit and charm?"

She smiled faintly, shaking her head. "No. I could see her footprints through time, her shadow stretching forward and back, but it was never constant, never steady. She's a wanderer, like you."

He wasn't surprised by that assessment. Ace had always been like him that regard. "Oh, there's too much to see, too much to do, to waste time standing still. You know that."

"Yeah," she agreed. "I do. But, y'know what? Wandering through the universe's better with a friend."

He smiled as he tugged her hand and pulled her into an embrace. "Yes, it is. Thank you for wandering with me."

She echoed words that she'd said before. "Wouldn't've missed it for the world."

There were so many possible actions he could take. So many that they stretched out to infinity and beyond. However, there was only one he wanted. "So, Rose Tyler," he said. "Did I mention that I snogged you just before I regenerated?"

Rose looked startled for a moment before a slow smile spread across her lips. Just the tip of her tongue emerged from her mouth to moisten her lips, distracting him, before she answered. "Yeah?"

He leaned in, so close he could feel her breath upon his lips. "Fancy another go?" he asked.

She grinned, her eyes darkening as she slipped her hands around his back, pulling him closer. "Thought you'd never ask."

It took a thought. Just a tiny, insignificant thought to close the distance between them and…there.

The last kiss that they'd shared had been an ending, as much of a goodbye as he could make.

Now, however. Oh, now. He felt her lips part and he took advantage. This wasn't an ending. It was anything but.

She'd saved his life dozens of times. He'd saved hers. She'd started a revolution, saved the day, and saved him in countless other ways just by being her.

No, this wasn't an ending.

This was a beginning.

**THE END**


End file.
